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>

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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. Angeal supposes that would be the simple solution, so he suspects that it will likely not work.

But even if it did...

He's not been wanting to get up, with the pain in his back being what it is, but Angeal is unfortunately rather stubborn. So, with a low huff of exertion, he braces his good hand against the chair and hauls himself back up onto his feet again.

"Well, if that's what you believe, I've already learned there's no fighting with you on it," Angeal says.

Which is exactly why he's just turning away and heading right for the doors.

At first he lets out a small breath of relief. He really did not want to have a prolonged debate about this, especially when he knows exactly what Angeal is going through. Really, he should let him take his body back, however they can make that happen, and they can sweep this whole thing under the rug! However, it seems Angeal has something else in mind with how he stands and turns away. Dion stares at him in slight surprise and wonder at what it is he's doing—but then he starts to head for the door.

"Angeal—wait. Where are you—are you trying to run away with my body?" Hurriedly he follows, trying to grab hold of him before he can escape. He's confident that, while Angeal is clearly capable, he shouldn't know how to utilize his powers in any way that's useful. Certainly he isn't a skilled dragoon and can leap away without issue. He's got the capabilities in his body, but surely...?

Oh, Greagor, what will he do if Angeal escapes him?

If he were honest, Dion's senses are a bit - different than what he's used to. It almost feels like just breathing alone is muffled somehow, with things not nearly as notable when he takes it all in through the nose. It's not a SOLDIER thing, he knows that for a fact, he's always been like this, and Dion clearly... isn't.

It's not just his sense of smell, either, although that's the most noticeable things he's ever had in his entire life. Everything feel a little muffled.

But the good news is that his body is pretty big. He doesn't need to have enhanced senses to hear Dion coming.

Dion's got some legs on him. Angeal isn't sure if he'd say he's exactly the same, but he's always been pretty fit himself. Gotta have legs on a guy if they want to match Sephiroth in combat. So as he hears himself rushing after himself, Angeal gives a go at leaping forward just a bit-

And nearly crashes straight through them.

Fortunately, thanks to his recent work on the bakery, and also because of how doors work, he just makes an awkward-ass sight as he goes tumbling through, hands frantically grabbing at the door and its handle. "Shit - fuck - yes I am. It'll be good for you - motherfucker."

That was him using his right hand without thinking and ow.

There's a hot lance of indignation that stabs through him once the shock of seeing Angeal leap at—through??—the doors. Confirmation as fiery hot as the sun burns through his mind as it's made clear what Angeal intends to do: make off with his body for real.

"Do not do this—you do not have to do this for me!" That's what this is, it's taking on his pains, his burdens, for him, and that burns inside of him worse than any physical pain his stony limb or spine could cause him. Or so he believes, anyway. It is true he cannot stand the thought of causing this sort of suffering to someone he cares about. He has to stop him, catch him, something, anything!

"Angeal!" He calls after, hurriedly making his way through the door after him, trying to adjust to this body's height and...mass, really. It's not easy, when he's used to his smaller form and slender limbs, and now he's running on what feels like tree trunks by comparison. The graceful movements he usually has being muted with the clumsiness of unfamiliarity. He must look like such a fool. At least there's power in these steps, and so when he breaks into a sprint after his own body, he doesn't feel entirely hopeless at catching up.

That is...so long as Angeal doesn't semi-prime, or jump again.

The good news is that Angeal doesn't jump quite yet. And frankly, with what he knows about priming thanks to Dion, he'd be loathe to do that, too.

Besides... He needs to clear up some misconceptions, here.

"I think I clearly do!" he calls back over his shoulder as he runs, making a sharp turn down an alley. This should work out well for him, he thinks - used to work out pretty well for Genesis back when they'd fuck around as teens, chasing each other, whenever Angeal wasn't working some other job. "How do I feel, Dion?"

"Why!?"

He basically barks out in frustration as he follows close behind. This entire thing is ridiculous, and watching himself run away from him is a level of absurdity he did not sign up for today! But here he is, running after his boss? Employer? Friend? All in an attempt to spare him having to deal with the curse. As he books it down the alley, he follows suit—but then the question that's leveled at him catches him and he slows a moment from its impact.

Not simply because it makes him really consider how he feels, how...honestly light he feels, how freeing it is to be in a body that doesn't punish him for daring to exist. There's honestly something so emotional about it, both in being treated to feeling unbroken after accepting long ago that he would never feel this way again. That feeling trapped inside of a rotting body was all he'd ever know once it had started. That he'd die young, that if he didn't die on the battlefield, he'd die from his body giving out, petrifying painfully, with barely any dignity, and what mercy he'd be spared would come from the parts that were more stone than man to feel the pain.

Before he realizes it, he's stopped in place, really taking in the weightlessness of Angeal's body. How good it is to simply be. He brings his right arm up, looking it over and as he turns it, there's no pain. Nothing stabbing, nothing burning, no pull to the skin where it meets with stone, and his face twists with relief that almost looks like grief. He was so caught up in trying to relieve Angeal of his own body's burden, he almost didn't allow himself the time to appreciate the freedom from it he's been granted. To really bask in a body that, while foreign to him, feels more as it should than even his own.

Though, despite all of this profound sentiment, there is something that keeps repeating in the back of his head. Because, of course he can't not think about how Angeal phrased the question.

How do I feel, Dion?

Great Greagor, that is not going to leave his mind easily, but at least in this moment he's teary-eyed and distracted by something a bit more pressing.

Frankly, it's a good thing that Dion comes to a stop when he does. Angeal finds the pain in his arm to be far worse than his back, but, when it comes to running, his back - Dion's back - is affected far worse. As he hears those heavy footsteps behind him slow and then come to a stop, Angeal finally allows the same for himself. A grimace spasms over his face as he hunches over against a wall, bracing his good arm there.

One. Two. And - up, there, straightening up as he turns to face Dion again.

His arm is shaking a bit from the pain, and Angeal focuses on his breathing, tries to get himself under control. Dion is going to worry so much; he has to keep that to a minimum. Only when his hand has stopped shaking from the pain does he speak up again.

"What's Greagor like, Dion?" he asks, good hand going to rest on his hip. "Is she kind? does she do things with a purpose?"

Being so lost in the overwhelming reality of his current state, it takes him a moment to parse what's being asked. It's odd, not so much the question, but hearing it asked in his own voice. Something utterly surreal about it, and it's made all the more surreal when he looks to Angeal—seeing his own face staring back at him. There's so much emotion in him, that the question combined with it visually and audibly coming from himself, the everything, strikes him so deeply. Angeal is treated to an expression on his own face twisted with grief—for himself, for everything he's lost, everything he's been made to sacrifice, and everything he's taken from others.

There's silence that falls between them, and that build up of tears eventually spills over as he tries to speak, finding his voice dying in his throat. So, in lieu of that, he hangs his head for a moment, trying to rebuild his resolve, trying to gather himself, to calm himself.

He doesn't blame Greagor for this, this isn't Her fault, nor his faith's. He's learned who is behind this burden, why he's a Dominant, why he's had to do what he's had to do, why everything is as it is. Yet, it's so hard right now to find his voice to defend his faith. Yet, he does, as always he finds a way to push through and carry on.

"She is kind. She is forgiving and merciful." His voice—Angeal's voice—is soft and fragile, like air-blown glass. As if it could shatter if one was too careless. "It was not She who did this to me."

It was Ultima.

It's honestly disconcerting, seeing the way that his own face crumples so helplessly, as the tears begin to slide down his own face. Angeal's always tried to avoid crying, whenever he could. Even when he was a kid, he felt guilty about it - that he was worrying his parents, that he was taking them away from the really important things. And then, afterwards, well...

He was always meant to be the sturdy one, wasn't he? The voice of reason between Genesis and Sephiroth, the guy who could be there for Genesis when he was too full of emotion, or Sephiroth when he was trying to figure out the very same.

The last time he cried...

Hm.

Probably when he saw his parents, on the shore.

Angeal tries not to linger on it for too long. Tries not to get distracted. "I never said She was," he says, his voice lowering to something a little more gentle, softer, cradling the glass of Dion's emotions. "But maybe she did this."

He steps forwards, again and again, until Dion can see him a little better past the tears, see the way that Angeal gestures between the two of them.

"Maybe you need this, Dion. Maybe there's a reason me, out of everyone, was the one who ended up in your body, and you get mine, out of everyone else's in this place. I mean, I know you well enough by now - you would have offered those grapes to anyone who looked.

"So maybe... you deserve a respite. Maybe this is a sign of it, or something else. So just accept it, until this runs its course."

Angeal is bullshitting here, but, honestly, it always was a talent of his. He hopes it works out here.

Oh.

Oh, that hits him harder than he could ever expect it to. Than any defense could negate. There's something about not just the idea of mercy, but its actuality that relieves the spirit from all the burden and tension built up over a lifetime. His head is absolutely swimming, and he's left shaken from it all. From Angeal's kindness, from how he was certain that he was trying to argue with him about Greagor, that he might use this to attack what little comfort he still could take with the faith which had structured his life, which had given him meaning, which he had inherited from his father.

He clings to it, desperately, trying to make sense of his suffering, trying to make sense of it all. He wants to believe in a merciful world, one that is just, one that is righteous, even in the face of unfathomable cruelty.

Dion's eyes screw shut as he chokes back a sob. What can he do? What can he say to this? Angeal has a point. One he cannot deny, one he cannot contest. This had to have happened for a reason, it appeals to his faith in Greagor, but does it appeal to the mercy he feels for himself? What of the anguish that still burns so deeply in his heart? Of the guilt that suffocates him? Of every earthly wrong he's done—did he deserve this respite?

Did Greagor truly think he did?

"But what of...what of my sins?"

The question is more a whimper than words, barely able to break past the tightness in his throat as he tries to keep back another sorrowful sob. His fists ball at his sides as he opens his eyes and looks to Angeal, eyes red from the tears, his expression strained from the agony of tears that long since needed to fall—both for himself and Angeal's body, honestly.

"Of all the lives I have taken...of the lives I have ruined...? What of them? Of their loved ones? How could She see fit to show me mercy, when they deserve it far more than I ever could?"

Of course it can't be that easy. Dion's emotions are massive, and deep, and tangled in tight. If it were easy, then, well, it probably wouldn't be Dion.

But that's fine. This step - it's a good one, Angeal thinks. Worth the ache that goes deep down to his bone, the twist of pain around his muscles. He can handle a little something like this, can't he?

"So just because you're flawed, you think yourself undeserving of Her mercy and kindness?" It doesn't look as though he'll get grabbed, now, not with Dion in this state, not with this conversation being what it is. Angeal steps closer, ignoring the thorns of pain that dig deep into his spine, and rests his good hand to his own body's shoulder. How dizzying, still, to look upon his own face like this.

But that just means... Dion must feel the same, seeing himself, listening to himself.

It's probably cheating, to use that to his advantage, but Angeal thinks he can be forgiven for a little bit of cheating.

"That's not what mercy nor kindness means, Dion." Angeal keeps his voice carefully measured, soft and gentle. Focuses on his lungs, his breath, the way his tongue forms in his mouth, rather than the pain there in his other arm that he keeps carefully still at his side. "Even with your sins, you can still be given that.

"That doesn't mean you are to ignore your own sins, what you've done before as you were a part of war... But perhaps it means you must think differently on it. Maybe your pain was making it harder for you to think on all of it, distracting you from Her message."

What is her message?

Angeal has no idea. Banora's idea of religion was in old stories and things left long buried in the dirt beneath the apple trees. Midgar let it die much like the plants.

"This is only something you can understand, Dion. So, to best understand it... You can't let this chance go to waste. You have my permission, Dion." Angeal smacks his hand solidly against his own bicep, which - no he won't get distracted by that. "Do as you like in this body. Remember what it feels like to be a person, again, instead of a weapon trapped in stone."

Is that perhaps a little bit too much? Maybe Dion has never gone so far as to think of himself as a weapon, in contrast to Angeal, and Sephiroth, and Genesis - all of them knowing how ShinRa really thought of them. Maybe Dion was lucky enough to not be thought of in that way.

But on the other hand, he holds a dragon god in his body.

And issues like his don't spring from nothing whole cloth.

"Instead of a weapon trapped in stone..." He says that, quietly and almost inaudibly under his breath.

It's...such a concept. The very thing they were all fighting for, was it not? That they might free mankind from the shackles of magic and its blood price. From Ultima's vision of the world, from everything that robbed them from their own choices, from their own ability to live as themselves—to be human. Unlike most Dominants, Dion had awoken as an infant, and so his entire life was dictated by being this equally coveted and reviled thing. Something to exploit, something to be used. His body didn't belong to him, his life was not his own. His pain and servitude would pave the way to peace and prosperity for his nation, or so that was what he was told.

His lot was to secure Sanbreque everything it needed. Land, resources, safety, power.

Dion knew since he was a child that he would die never to grasp the joys of life that others would garner from his suffering, from the suffering he would cause to secure their bliss. Their serenity. For as much as he allowed him the indulgence of Terence's love and company, he never allowed himself even the thought of marriage, or a family, or anything that would give him hope for a future. He knew such a thing was beyond someone like him. For this divine gift was there a trade: his right to his humanity and that implies. But, if it was his life that could afford them such security and safety, isn't that a fair price to pay? Was he not chosen for that very purpose?

The answer has become a resounding no, and there's a lot that has been shaken within his core the more he's learned of the truth of their world, yet he's been molded the way he is. One does not so easily escape their roots, even if they are not fully defined by them. So, even now being given this reprieve, it leaves him feeling so besides himself and twisted.

Yet...yet...

"...You are right." He acquiesces finally, his (Angeal's) voice heavy with emotion and husky from the crying. "I shall take this blessing for what it is, allow myself the clarity it affords, and reflect. But, I fear for you—I know what you are suffering..."

Oh thank the fucking Goddess.

Angeal keeps that little bit of religion out of his response, shaking his head and bracing one (good) hand along his hip. "You don't need to worry about me, you know. The exact title would mean nothing to you as it might have the average civilian back where I'm from, but all you need to know is that I was once of the highest standing in the military, going on the field facing all sorts of threats and pain."

He raises that hand, rapping the knuckles to his chest. "So for this sort of pain, I've already adjusted, just like I would on the battlefield back home. I'll be able to deal with this for you, no problem. I just got caught off-guard by it, that's all."

Angeal cannot guarantee that he won't stumble into a bathroom and pain-hurl the second he knows he's far enough away from Dion.

He does not tell him this.

Although a part of him wonders if that could even happen, in Dion's body... Physically, it's no doubt used to functioning like this, right? It's how unused he is mentally to long lasting pain such as this which is throwing him off.

Ugh. Angeal tries not to think about it, instead doing his best to focus on Dion. Keep his thoughts off of what he's experiencing with this body. "I'll likely just relax in the baths until all of this wears off. In the meanwhile, you should take the opportunity to enjoy some good food that isn't seasoned with pain, explore as you like, all of that." He lets out a soft huff. "I'd even say that you could use it for more intimate matters too so long as the other party knew it was you, but... I know you're not the type who's so relaxed with sex still."

Or else Angeal could just recommend him to Genesis and Sephiroth, let him have an education.

Well, it's fine.

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TDM #13

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