jikan_rpg | Catch All Oct

⌛ Who: Kazuha & you!
⌛ What: Catch all for Oct 15th-31st, Kazuha's bday on Oct 29th
⌛ When: Oct 15th-31st
⌛ Where: Around the west, mostly Nara and Osaka
⌛ Warnings: Violence? Smut? Drugs? Birthday?

1 |Wereyokai

[Let it be said that Kazuha heard the warnings.

He'd weighed them, as he usually does, but he wanted to experience the festival fully so he made no attempt to leave before it. Besides, he hates the trains and the noise of them gives him a headache that can last for hours, if not days. After enjoying the daylight festival, the samurai chose to step outside at night without a mask on.

The first night's transformation was painful. Maybe because in surprise, he resisted the changes happening to his body and the way bones cracked and reshaped in certain ways, fur and foliage alike sprouted from his form. Once he'd given into it though— how freeing it felt. The later transformations are less painful. Pleasurable, even.

The young samurai had taken traits of a white rabbit, complete with the large ears that swivel like satellites, elongated rabbit feet, and the fluffy tail. What appears at a distance to be crimson fluff along his shoulders and neck are what are actually hundreds of small layered leaves when observed closer. The scar along his hand has grown two quarters up his arm, now a bright electro purple in the moonlight, with branches like lichtenberg figures.

He's also showing more skin than usual, dressed in a comfortable pair of hakama and some bandages, the edges of combat scars etched over his skin. It was a bit too itchy to wear his kimono over the leaves, though sometimes he does pull his haori over himself for warmth.]
A | (potential nsfw, drugs)
[Running around like a wild berserker was likely never going to be a thing that would happen to Kazuha, but he's not immune to the affects of the moon. The cloying desire for indulgence had rooted deep within him and tonight he's feeling that gnawing hunger in him.

Since this is the west, it meant that he had ample access to uki again. The lagomorphic outline of the samurai is just a silhouette against the moonlight where he lazes in a thick, low branch of a tree an inn is built into. Certainly anyone could see him there and disturb him, but he seems so relaxed, puffing away at the sweet smelling herb out of a kiseru.

Generally speaking, the samurai is not one to stay indoors unless it's raining. With the clear skies out, there's clearly other reasons why he sticks close to lodging.]

Beautiful night.

B | (Violence, mention of vore, potential nsfw if that's ur thing)
[There's a seed of darkness in Kazuna, just like many other men, but he's able to control it some. He's not a senseless killer, even if tonight violence makes his heart flutter like a lover's kiss. He has his wits about him mostly, but he wouldn't have denied that he went outside expecting a fight of some sort. After all, that's what everyone had been warning them about.

He had stumbled upon a yokai in the midst of a meal. Of all the things he had expected to see, it wasn't the pool of blood and a victim's broken body cracked open like a shellfish. A little rabbit is very enticing as well, and having witnessed the murder, it painted a target on the small samurai as well.

The fight is finished quickly, blood splattering Kazuha's pale skin. He reaches up, wiping a few droplets from his face with a clawed hand, and then leans over to pick up a scrap of the dead yokai's robe to clean the dripping blood off his sword. As he drags the cloth over the blade, his ears swivel, noticing new company.]

Are you wanting some attention as well?

2 | Maples leaves and Birthday Wishes | Oct 29th

[It's not a very traditional birthday, though Kazuha's had to make plenty of his own traditions and changes since he'd become a wanderer. Still, he wants to spend it with people he's grown to somewhat like, so with Beidou's blessing he extends an invite to spend time with him on the Mizar before it sets sail from where it's docked in Osaka. Not everyone he's grown fond of are still present in the west— those who aren't he makes a note to find them later.

On his birthday, Kazuha spends a good amount of time in the kitchen preparing ingredients for the evening meal— hot pot, for the feeling of companionship. Still, having let people know he is in Osaka for the day, during the daytime he can be found browsing the shops for a present to himself and for fresh ingredients for his guests. During meal preparation, he probably wouldn't mind the help either.

At night, Kazuha dons no mask, having learned that while his physical transformations are notable, his mental ones are minimal. At the very least, the Mizar wouldn't be docked forever in any case— he wouldn't be upset if others wore masks anyway. The bakeneko hanyo in the crew probably would prefer it.

Usually not too much of a gambler, Kazuha sometimes joins others in games of chō-han and drinking games. Fortunately, the Mizar is a large ship, so there's plenty spaces to find some quiet time away from other people or to take a lie down if needed.]

3 | Wildcard

[Feel free to adjust these prompts to your liking. The birthday one especially is to give a general idea of what he has planned. You can run with your gut instict or ping me on discord. I'll be happy to make closed starters for other Oct-based stuff as well.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It wasn't difficult at all to find the residue of violence these nights. The sounds and scents of it carried far, and with few attempts at anything like discretion, scenes were played out in the open, available for any and all to witness. This festival was a collection of performances where the audience was also the artist, when performer and prey held little distinction. While Emet-Selch didn't deliberately seek out any particular instance- as there was little deliberation in any of his actions these nights, his movements left to fickle whim- he also didn't turn away once he found it.

And found it he has. A dead yokai, a deader... something else, he couldn't quite tell and couldn't spare the effort to bother caring further than that- and a very much alive rabbit-like swordsman.

A rabbit... that does get his attention, though he lets the associations fade back as he does with most else these nights. But it does keep him from moving on, from finding a show that looked to be less concluded, tilting his head in a curious gesture as his presence is noticed and addressed.

The Ascian is somewhat transformed himself, a state he'd never minded from the first night (a result of arrogance and curiosity, that he was driven to repeat). Long, and exceedingly heavy wings grow from his shoulders and back, their structure supported by thickened, dark leather. Their fronts are studded both by violet crystal, as well as raw, shallow cavities that seem like something should've been there, but no longer was. The wings themselves look larger than anything even his fairly sturdy frame should be able to support, but they don't seem to cause him any particular trouble or discomfort. Leathery ribbons, attached both to the wings themselves, as well as directly to Emet-Selch's back, sway gently back and forth as he walks.

And they continue to twist absently about as he stops, eyes moving between the carnage and the samurai with modest interest. With a clawed, discolored hand, he gestures towards him, towards the nearby corpses and pool of blood.]

Are you offering? But don't let me interrupt, ere you've found what entertainment you might in your companions.

[His tone is mild, if slightly too insincere to be considered friendly, works spoken with a slight reverberation, his manner watchful and languid both.

Though Emet-Selch could use magic to keep both of his wings aloft, he only bothers with one of them, while the other he allows to drag heavily on the ground, violet crystals cutting a light trail into it. Though he's stopped nearby to observe, the edge of that wing drifts back and forth, scratching slowly into the path. That there's blood yet darkening, yet drying upon it isn't difficult to notice, though it'd be hard to tell whether it had gotten there through active violence or passive carelessness, drawn idly through some previous residue he'd come across. Though his robes aren't in the best condition, due to ribbons and wings alike, there's no sign of scars or marks at all on him.]

[While the Sixth is no wild berserker, he's certainly more inclined to picking fights in his current state - a desire to spill blood just for the sight and smell of it. It's a manageable bloodlust, no haze or clawing at his mind until he can think of nothing else, no being overwhelmed as it consumes him whole. It's a gentle hum, a desire that can be satiated, and so he does.

It's become routine, stepping out into the night and transforming - one that's become significantly easier each time. His hair doesn't grow anymore, it doesn't revert back come morning so there's little need when it already cascades down his back mimicking his creator's at all times of the day. Horns and fangs are the only real changes he experiences now, with the subtle shift of red rings circling the pupils of his eyes, making him easy to recognize and entirely unassuming towards those he finds fights with.

Shortly after Scaramouche has finished his fights, blood still splattered against him, does he come across a familiar figure. Eyes narrow at the sight of large ears as he approaches the tree, not expecting a rabbit in place of a samurai. Honestly not expecting to see the samurai at all. It's laughable how he can't seem to escape the man, constantly running into him in such short spans of time.]

It is.

[A curt response as their meetings seem to always start.]

Catch All Oct

1B

1A as nuffle choses chaos for us both