Who: Darkleer, along with Disciple, the Grand Highblood, and anyone else who tries to pay him a visit
When: Throughout the week
Where: Darkleer's room
Status: Open to a few
Style: Whatever
Warning: Some descriptions of gore spoken by a douchebag nightmare

Ever since Monday night, Darkleer hadn't left his room. He hadn't let others come, either. It probably didn't help that he had barricaded the door, left Summoner outside to be cared for by Dural and the robots. He... He couldn't trust himself with his unconscious matesprit. He couldn't trust himself with the boys, either, or anyone else he knew.

How could he?

Not when, at night, a vision of himself covered in blood and toying with gory trophies whispered to himself about how easy it would be to kill them all, how good it would feel. Not when, in the morning, Darkleer couldn't stop obsessing over it, driving his thoughts around in circles. Sometimes, speaking with others helped. It almost felt as if the other stopped talking to him, stopped toying with his own much longer hair, but Darkleer was half sure that was just in his head.

Sometimes he feels guilty, thinking of the boys, but...

He couldn't be trusted.

So in his room he stayed, trying to ignore thoughts that had mocked him for a very, very long time.

Who: Tifa and you
Where: Vatheon's streets
When: Night
Style: I'll match~
Status: Open!

It's only supposed to be one night more, but it just seems like one night too many. Tifa's barely slept in the past week, and her nerves are shot, and she doesn't think she can stand to spend another night alone in her apartment with that monster.

Maybe walking off into the foggy darkness isn't the best plan, but anything, anywhere, is better than that. At least he won't be there in what passes for her home in this city. Maybe on the move she won't feel trapped with him.

But she still sees him--and so can anyone else who gets close enough: a tall, silver-haired man carrying a wickedly long sword. He seems to slip in and out of the shadows, sometimes disappearing just long enough to make her think she's finally lost him, only to appear again, his blade rushing for her chest. Sometimes he walks beside her, his stride smooth and predatory no matter how quick her step, and speaks to her, coldly recounting the deaths she's seen him bring about.

She ignores him as much as she can, but at best he makes her skin crawl. Maybe in the end it's no better than if she'd stayed put, but she's having trouble now finding her way back.