expiationlogs | {Mini Event} Day of Devotion

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{Mini Event} Day of Devotion

DAY OF DEVOTION

This is an entirely opt-in very casual event that has nothing to do with overarching storyline and is just an additional introductory log, and a means for characters to meet. We hope you've all had a very happy Valentine's Day week however you've chosen to spend it!

SCARVES OF LOVE

The season of affection and love of all kinds falls upon Aldrip in the wake of their festivities for Those Who Were There. As part of the celebration, what's referred to as the 'Day of Devotion,' local merchants carry a variety of wares, but none so coveted as their multicoloured scarves available in a variety of prints, designs, and fabrics. Perhaps consider picking one up and giving it to someone who's important to you. No money? No problem! Whilst Aldrip doesn't exactly work on a layaway system or akin to, you'll find the mercantile business owners are quite open to trades and other means of bartering. Maybe they'll give out a scarf or two in agreement for running some errands...

Lucky recipients of these very fashionable scarves will find themselves suspiciously open to sharing positive, warm and fuzzy, or perhaps downright amorous feelings toward the person who gifted them the scarf to begin with, regardless of whether you've known them for years or even just a couple of weeks. But don't worry—the feelings are temporary! Once the Day of Devotion comes to a natural conclusion, your feelings will return to something like normalcy and you'll still wind up with a new fashion accessory. Of course, if you've always been amorous with that special someone, you likely won't notice any sort of change.

Take the opportunity to embrace the celebration, maybe embrace one another a little bit, too, and begin forming some potentially everlasting bonds with others.

BRING PROTECTION

Not everyone is choosing to celebrate the Day of Devotion in the same way. Due to the heightened popularity of the pretty scarves, some of Aldrip's jewellers have been bitten by the green bug of jealousy. In an attempt to compete with the sales of scarves, jewellers are advertising pendants, brooches, and other assorted charms that are meant to serve as warding and protective trinkets. What are they protecting one from? It's difficult to say and the merchants aren't inclined to give a straight answer. But whether you need protection from love, personal feelings, or perhaps something more physical, they've got you covered!

If you choose to give these amulets to others, recipients of them and their related will be compelled to share their true feelings with those around them in addition to the person who gave them the protective charms. This sounds like it could be a good thing, however, that means it covers the array of positive, negative, and every shade in between, without a filter in place. Consider these accessories a potential test of friendships, familial relationships, and more.

Like the scarves, this need and desire to be truthful with your feelings will be temporary, lasting until the Day of Devotion celebration is over. But at least you'll be protected. From something. Maybe. Probably. Or not!

FLOWERS FOR ALDRIP

By now, you may be well familiar with Aldrip's variety of fields that are filled with vegetables and fruits that grace the dinner tables of the town and local cuisine. During the Day of Devotion and weeks leading up to it, you'll find that they're clearing another field and preparing the soil. What for, you won't find out until the actual day of the celebration. Once it arrives, there's a collection of simple carts filled with flowering plants. Locals and newly-arrived alike are welcome to lend a hand in planting them along the neatly tilled rows.

You may find plants that resemble or are identical to plants from your home world. You may find plants that you've never seen in your life. They come in a variety of colours and are accompanied by a lightly pleasing scent that shouldn't be too overpowering, though may still disturb those with allergies.

All who help out with the planting, watering, and other tending, will be rewarded with a bouquet of flowers that can be passed onto others to show your appreciation and other forms of affection. You may even find yourself making a good and lasting impression on the locals by offering some assistance.

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[ the irony of gogol taking the brooch before a proper, formal gesture had been made is not lost on fyodor who relinquishes it without protest. he supposes, at the end of the day, they simply are not those sorts of sentimental people even when they're playing at these sorts of theatrics. ] Would you have really stopped to think of those things with my death? It sounds pathetically simple and very much not like you. [ this man needs a lesson in empathy one day. ] But then, said incomprehensible affection—[ wait, hold up.

(what is incomprehensible to gogol about the affection he holds? is it not true that few binds would ever be as efficient, as devastating to his freedom as affection that runs deep? the type that makes one yearn for the company of the other with desperate sighs, forlorn glances at the moon and poetry, so much poetry—

is it possible that it's an affection that exceeds friendship? that's intolerable, more tolerable than the cold and wet but still).

he's never been so glad to be so certain of his intellect because the realization comes mid-sentence, but it takes less than a second to process so he continues smoothly with what he's saying.

it is also in this moment that fyodor decides he's going to absolutely maim the jester. ]— must be such a difficult burden to shoulder. Perhaps, I could help?

[ It's not so much that he doesn't anticipate that Fyodor will do something to influence the conclusion of this conversation. Gogol has worked parallel to him for some time after all and has never known him to make offers without there being something else behind it.

Which is to say the sudden offer does gives him pause. But not a long one. In that pause a smile begins to turn the corners of his mouth upwards once again. Mockery of a thinker, he brings a hand up to that grinning mouth as if in contemplation.

And yet he wouldn't wish to be able to read Dostoevsky's mind. Not when surprise is the spice of life. A chuckle comes from the satisfaction of knowing absolutely nothing about what will happen next. Uncertainty he decides not to challenge. ]

Mmmhmm!! It is. Very much so! ...So would you be so kind, fedya?

[ the offer of help had been deliberate but not a long term plan, it had come out of the realization of what gogol feels, and his own personal desire to have a hand in it. honestly, his dear friend needed some guidance and who best than fyodor to provide it when he's right here?

one step closer negating the already small space between them and he holds up the bag with all the purchased pieces of jewellery of various bird-like motifs. wings, beaks, nests, feathers...] I think if you see inside this bag you'll have a clear demonstration of what one is willing to do for those they care for. [ not that fyodor cares for gogol, his own emotions are muted and opaque; he does not desire anything from the other except his complicity in their schemes.

and yet, who goes and empties a stall of trinkets just to frustrate their friend, ultimately to turn around and offer them all without complaint? ] See? [ he shakes it a little to give away the contents while using this distraction to cover up what his left hand is doing.

the way a dull letter opener appears between thin, raw-bitten fingers and fyodor waits. one, two, three-before the letter opener is jamed hard on gogol's side. nothing fatal, nothing even significantly damaging. all part of the lesson.

even if fyodor can forgive gogol's sentiments towards him, the cold and wet? not so much. ] Still incomprehensible? [ he asks, sweetly. ]

Edited 2023-02-23 13:40 (UTC)

[ For that deception Fyodor will be rewarded with a cut off gasp and then a full bodied shudder as the pain registers in his side. As much as the dull blade being used to pierce his side hurts: if Dos had wanted him to die here... he would have already killed him.

So really the most embarrassing part of all of this is how effective the distraction was. Not the bag of sparkly jewellery itself⁠. It's rare to hear Fyodor speak of attachment in that way. The bag of evidence filled to the brim with trinkets Gogol might've paused to look at. A look of shock appeared on his face before he was even stabbed.

Which means there's a long enough pause for Dostoeysky to be a sneaky little rat. ]

Ha Ha Ha- ow, AHaha, [ Emphatically: ] OUCH!?? Ahahaa, be good now and drop it. Drop it!

[ Laughter and sing-song tone aside the grip Gogol uses on Fyodor's hand to yank both it and the improvised weapon from his side is no joke. He slides the hold down towards a delicate wrist to vigorously shake it with the purpose of making him let go of the letter opener. It shouldn't take too much to make it happen, he figures, but if his dear friend does play stubborn then breaking a wrist would be fair, he thinks. He decides that he could maaaybe resort to breaking some brittle little bones if he haaad to.

Crowding in on Fyodor's personal space to ruin both of their clothes with the minimal amounts of blood is soooo fair too. Shame it's not even much blood at all. The consequence of stabbing Gogol like this appear to be so minimal and yet so annoying. ]

Oh! Did you miss me in return?! Well that clears things right up since you're really mirroring my own sentiments back at me so well right now~!

[ a demonstration of desire—gogol's, not his own because fyodor's own inner logic is twisted but this particular act was solely intended for his dearest, most intimate friend. this all was also perhaps to warn him off from those sentiments from before—incomprehensible affection, indeed! fyodor feels offended at the phrasing, though he's not sure why it should bother him to begin with. perhaps, it is the willful blindness gogol seems to have committed himself to in this respect. there is a certain murkiness of the waters here, and fyodor has no desire to peer in further than he must. he's found that any slivers of humanity are utterly exhausting to experience himself.

beneath that firm grip his own bones creak in protest, he feels the promise of a broken wrist, of broken bones. it'll bruise, it'll bruise hard, he knows it even as he holds onto the letter opener for a tad longer than it is advisable. then it clatters to the floor between them, bodies close. gogol is a brave man to hold a viper at this distance, the specks of bright red staining their clothing as fyodor goes seemingly limp like a fish and leans right into gogol. at this distance, at all these points of contact, crime and punishment would be lethal before the overcoat even came into play. but fyodor isn't interested in murdering his dear friend here, in broad daylight. instead he leans into him, taunting, promising, denying. ]

I did not miss you. [ because fyodor is petty and he does not miss anyone, ever. the bag with all those trinkets is trapped between them now and fyodor has the audacity to smile, even as his wrist throbs. ] I am merely helping you understand your own feelings.

[ Satisfied with the surrender of the letter opener he drops the previously unpleasant grip. As much as the playful Fyodor prodding comes as second nature the point has not been whether his affection is returned. Such a thought feels as impossible as it would stop the painful beating his own heart. No, the significant detail is his own attachment. If he shatters that shackle he manages to spare them both from this. Which means, yes, all this fanfare here is necessary. He doesn't want to have to contend with a demon's full attention on him as a very pressing problem to dispose of before he can put together another satisfactory duel, or plan, or other attempt at achieving freedom.

Each point of contact with a man who kills with a touch is an indirect call of a bluff. Fyodor didn't deem it right to kill him in Meursault when he appeared although he had many chances to... which means he probably won't kill Gogol here either. Probably. Thus now two dangerous men stand leaning against one another; the second more voracious than the first. At some point Fyodor will be the first to move away from the contact—both emotionally and physically—to climb back up his ivory tower. Until then Gogol takes the opportunity to drop his forehead to thump against a white-clad shoulder. He snickers into the fabric. ]

I suspected that might be the case. Won't you watch my closing act regardless? It's the one where I try very very hard to bleed out impossibly in the middle of a street.

[ For the show of it Gogol presses down on his own injury and whimpers at the flare of pain. A pathetic sound he lets out right beside Fyodor's ear. No way this is going to kill him never mind kill him within a convenient time frame. ]

Uh, hm... it looks like we could be here for a while!

[ thoughts aren't spared, they skewered mercilessly under fyodor's sharp scrunity as he looks at the clown currently complaining in, what would almost be considerd, his embrace. his free hand, now with its throbbing wrist is pressed against gogol's, holding the wound down without tenderness at all.

such theatrics. ]

I suppose then my only choice is to mend this well-earned future scar my meddlesome friend has. [ and look he's almost, almost rhyming, mimicing the playful speech patterns of his dearest friend and pushing along the game.

the situation remains unclear, but fyodor's priorities haven't changed; even as he guides gogol back to his temporary abode with one of the well-meaning locals. whether fyodor has been there long or short term is impossible to tell, everything is almost staged. if he's sleeping it may be that he found elsewhere to do so, away from everyone who might have access to him and attempt to hurt him while his guard is down.

and that includes everyone in this world.

fyodor does, however, have a small kit. it's not a first-aid one, oh no, it is merely some things he's taken the habit of putting awy for the moment. clearly for emergency use or as part of some future plan. among them, there is a needle and a thread and some gauze.

a chair, a table, a bed. this is probably more luxurious than fyodor's general abodes back home where he doesn't even have a window. he puts the bag of trinkets purchased on the table, then turns to gogol gesturing for him to sit wherever he wishes. ]

I don't have to tell you to behave here, do I? We are guests in this house.

[ and he has a needle at hand, don't make him stitch your mouth shut. ]

[ The fair haired man slumps into that the wooden chair that protests immediately from the haphazard treatment. Moving from point A to point B he is somewhat distracted, he must admit, by the suggestion that it will scar. To be marked by this occasion where they have waltzed along certain boundaries but not over them... well he doesn't hate the prospect.

Fyodor is looking at him expectantly now. He blinks the distraction away and returns the gaze with a returning grin. ]

Doooos... Can't you ask me that nicely? That wasn't very compelling and I know you can do so much better!?

[ Fyodor brandishes that needle and, oh, this is bound to hurt with nothing to dull the pain in sight. Yet he simply can't help himself as he sits with his legs splayed to make room for the makeshift first aid. He simply can't help but lightly tease.

One hand has already begun to obediently pull back cloth to expose the damage to the open air even as he bats his lashes for good measure. ]

[ had he known that line of thought, dostoevsky would reply that it is only gogol that is dancing over or close to any lines. he's too uninterested, too holy, too himself for these things but there is no denying the way fyodor at the very least tolerates, if not downright encourages it by letting it happen. scheming to catch gogol unaware is not on his cards; he doesn't care, he absolutely feels nothing but a vague, distant fondness for his friend—that is a lie he'll have to confess to later.

there is a dull flatness present in his eyes when he kneels between gogol's legs, spidery touch skittering along gogol's thigh up to his side to press nail-bitten fingers on his side. he must kneel properly, as if he's about to take communion back home, the floor always uncomfortable to his poor, frail body. both hands need to be placed on his friend, without overt gentleness.

instead, he presses the skin between thumb and forefinger then gently pinches it so he can begin the work. the needle doesn't pierce skin, instead dostoevsky is looking up at gogol, head tilted to meet those batting lashes head on. ]

Very well, I will nicely tell you that if you don't behave those gifts I bought for you will be forfeited.

[ And so starts their veritable fun-time wound-stitching bonding exercise. His free hand flexes against the grain of the wooden chair as the tops of his thighs are used as guidelines for a frail body to fall into a loathsome kneel in between them. Gogol comes forward to lean the arm unpreoccupied with holding up cloth on the side of the weathered chair. The would-be patient tilts himself off-kilter to get a clearer view of the unaffected expression on the dark-haired man's face as he looks up at Gogol.

To start there is sparse indication of discomfort. The most reliable way to tell his full attention remains rooted on the spot is the way his frame tenses in a way he fails to smother the moment Dostoevsky pinches the irritated flesh between cold fingers. In anticipation for the raw stitch work he flattens his feet firmly against the floor. ]

No take backsies. [ Cheerily, he laughs. But the high note drops off quickly. ] Ah, but Fedya, a penny for your thoughts? As you desire I can be on my best behavior if you can tell your good friend Gogol aaall about the plans percolating in that heads of yours.

[ How will that perfect veneer crack or crumble once he realizes it? "There is no Book here." ]

[ just as gogol plants his feet in order to brace for the first kiss of the needle, fyodor shifts his knees, the tips of his boots used to keep himself still. the lack of painkillers, the lack of gentleness is no excuse for a shoddy job. fyodor checks the needle one more time and then very much, very grossly, on purpose and without the slightest hint of remorse or shame—presses the needle against the flat of his tongue.

he closes his lips and runs the entirety of the string between tongue and lips, coating it in his saliva. then he and only then does he begin the stitching process. it won't be a long one, the wound would close fine too if left alone but this is something fyodor can and wants to do for (to) gogol. ]

In this place the plans must change. [ in, out-a pause so fyodor leans close, elbow over gogol's thigh so he can keep his balance before he continues onto the next stitch. ] But if you must know, if not knowing will keep you up at night...then I must tell you. How else could I live with the guilt of knowing I'm robbing you of much needed repose?

[ the smile is not directed at gogol as fyodor is now back to working on those stitches. ]

[ Grandiose is the rotten display which unfolds in front of his eyes; his breathing shudders as he watches it unfold. Gogol throws his head back and the light gasping quickly shifts to a crescendoing laughter as the first few stitches are completed. It's raucous in the otherwise quiet room where pale hands make short work of the damaged flesh that doesn't even require help healing. Yet he'd be a sore liar if he denied enjoying this special attention and care.

But really... why touch him? For what purpose will those hands become tainted with a sinners blood today? Something they both know is how it's superfluous. If it's not reciprocation—which it certainly must not be—then it must be manipulation. It's a web being masterfully crafted by those clever hands and Nikolai thinks he shall become entangled willingly. It drives his more animalistic instincts to want to wrap both of his own hands around the defenceless column of throat right in front of him. Instead, he bites down on the tip of his own thumb to stifle his disturbed giggling. ]

You simply must tell me! In return I will not deny you this chance to offer me salvation. Oh, but I simply can't help it. I must take a guess first.

[ As the dark haired man leans close to make efficient work of the task Gogol gently flattens a covetous palm between his shoulder blades. Absentmindedly, as Nikolai continues to direct his every word to the ceiling, he traces the hint of vertebrae that can be felt through the thin fabric. ]

Even without a well-defined path you have already begun to strategize your next move! ...Dos, did I guess it right?

[ blood his fingers and he only pauses for a moment to lick the pad of his thumb, bright red disappearing under his pale tongue. a mirror of the gesture of his dearest friend, the bite to stifle the giggling—taken, copied and made into his own. ]

You forgot to say 'quiz'. [ he points out, voice mild and he feels that palm flat against his spine, and it makes him rigid— he will not let the other set him off balance, he's almost done with the stitches. the burning sensation of that treacherous touch is not allowed to cause him hesitation.

the last pierce of the flesh is done, he pulls the thread all the way. makes a small knot at the end before leaning in close, warm breath ghosting over bare skin — a nip of teeth as he bites the thread. ]

Well then, here it is. Pop quiz! Will you really be able to do it without my cooperation?

[ On the contrary that touch starts to seek out more ways to throw Fyodor off his impeccable balance. Gloved fingers spider upwards to card through the baby hairs at the back of his neck. Yet as a glutton for even more upset he curls two of those fingers underneath the edge of Fyodor's ushanka.

The warm breath against his abdomen unsettles his heart deeply. To unsettle Fyodor in return Gogol's knocks that most beloved hat off his head with a bark of a laugh.]

Whoops!

[ Gave away the answer! Cooperation is needed. ]

Edited (formatting!!!) 2023-03-06 03:16 (UTC)

[ only someone of gogol's mixture of intelligence and utter disregard for his own safety would dare touch him so freely, so intimately. at least it is gloves and not actual skin to skin; there is a tell-tale twitch in fyodor's fingers as they rest on gogol's thigh. he pulls back, ushanka on the floor.

the strands of his hair at odd angles as he looks up, the needle now on the floor. the rest of the blood coating his fingers is unceremoniously wiped on gogol's inner thigh. meanwhile, the hand that he's cleared of blood with his pink tongue pinches the soft, thin skin of gogol's throat.

taunting, daring, distinctively annoyed. ]

I thought you were done testing my very limited supply of patience, Kolen'ka.

[ It's comeuppance for the way Fyodor touched first. A bold claim if not for the hands pressed to his thighs currently. Even before that. The crime of seeing through Nikolai's mask with a genius's clarity, and the inevitable punishment for understanding the inherent humanity that can be found there.

If this is a game of chicken he will be the victor. For that purpose he risks becoming the loser in a much larger game with higher stakes. Yet still his face is full of fondness as he looks down on his friend. He captures some of the fly away strands of hair to tuck behind Fyodor's ear neatly and alongside the allowance to himself to take that action his own blood runs cold with dread. ]

I am terribly sorry fedya but it seems like I've only just begun to test your patience.

[ Bubbling underneath the surface the opposite is equally as true. Only someone who strives to be something more than human would play with the emotions Gogol endeavours to neglect. Those are volatile. ]

You do not look terribly sorry at all, [ in fact the other looked utterly fond, and so fyodor twists those fingers pinching the skin. it's hardly harmful or even painful, but it is a warning.

the gentle tucking of his hair behind his ear is strange, alien. no one had tried such bold gestures with him. he straightens up, using the hand on gogol's thigh for leverage. his knees hurt.

with a newly freed hand he smacks away the mask over gogol's eye in a taunt. are you sure you want to test me? ]

[ As much as the rising threat behind the pinch does win a discomforted exhale Nikolai physically jolts when his mask is knocked askew. The covering clattering against the floor becomes a cue for him to abruptly stand as well.

There's aggression covered by affection in the way he grabs the wrist responsible for the unmasking for the second time that day. The same feeling influences the way the other arm wraps around a undernourished waist. This is how Gogol begins to half lead his much scrawnier counterpart and half haul him away from the makeshift medical station. ]

Will you give me a reason to look terribly sorry? Will you do it painfully?

[ the fingers pinching skin let go the moment he's brought closer by an arm around his bony waist, the slide to grip the base of nikolai's head, where the silver braid begins, digging deep. he enjoys being able to look at those mismatched eyes. ]

Yes. [ to both those questions, he's off balance and half-hauled by the other: stronger, invasive, determined. fyodor's smile is savage; it promises blood.

he manages to plant one foot on the floor before using that to push back. he will play. ] I will haunt you.

[ The pressure at the sensitive base of his skull makes a shiver run along his spine. That resistance from Fyodor will only achieve a further loss of space between them-- because Gogol doesn't exactly let up on the momentum he gained in backing up them towards the stairs to the upper floor.

To add to their little unofficial power struggle he plants a foot behind Fyodor to unbalance him. If his dear friend falls because of it then let him; Nikolai will be there to catch him in his arms. Maybe then he'd finally be able to sweep the object of his oh so twisted affections off his feet. What delusion! ]

That is very troublesome. Yet I can't find it in myself to dislike it!

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{Mini Event} Day of Devotion

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tw; violence, unhealthy dynamics

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tw; needles, questionable medical choices, unhealthy dynamics

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