TEST DRIVE MEME #33

[penancemods]

Arrival

"Judgement has come upon you. God has deemed you worthy of Hell. But don't worry, it can still be undone," comes a soothing voice that echoes all around you. The voice promises comfort, hope even.

It may seem like a nightmare at first, despite all of that. Full of hellfire nipping at your skin and a sensation of being pulled down no matter how much you struggle or cry for help. Wretched, unseen hands pull at you, grip tight at your body, tighten on your throat, skeletal fingers grab at your face, slide in your mouth and jab at your eyes as they struggle for purchase. It feels like for a moment, they may snap your neck as they tug and pull. The more you resist, the more phantom hands are added to your struggling body.

It feels like they could tear you apart if you let them. The only thing to do is to let go and stop fighting.

And so you do.

Darkness and nothingness consumes you for a second, And it seems to linger for a long time. There is nothing at all. It must be lonely. But it won’t be forever.

Initially, everyone opens their eyes to a long, dark corridor made of stone. They find themselves in what appears to be a long queue with other sinners, palm bloody.

Characters find their bodies feel heavy and stiff, bruised with odd hand prints here and there that they received during their journey down below. A massive headache throbs behind their temples. They are urged forward to take a numbered ticket and wait their turn in the long line. As they're ushered forward through the corridor, their first stop will be to see Lilith, standing outside her office.

The woman in a smart suit and a friendly smile steps forward to greet sinners one by one. "I'm sorry for your rough landing. We've never gotten it quite as smooth as it was in the past. Please, let me see your hand--"

Once she has the sinner's hand, there's the warm, almost electric touch of magic that soothes away the aches and pains, heals the wound left behind on each sinner's palm. Lilith looks satisfied with her work and gives a nod. "There, all better. Please take your care package and continue on until you reach the stairs."

On their way out, sinners receive their 'package', a contract detailing all sins committed. If they look at the list closely enough they'll notice it's written with their blood. That explains the palm wound then. It's an old piece of parchment despite the freshly written letters upon it. They will also receive a slightly more modern smart phone. Think early generation Android and a pamphlet made by other sinners during their stay here with useful tips.

After that, sinners will be ushered on to a set of stairs where a guard waits. "Welcome to Penance," the demon says gruffly before motioning them on without an ounce of courtesy. "Don't hold up the line."

They seem to go on and wind forever, but eventually, they come upon what appears to be a lobby of a hotel. Once there, they will notice several shops and other areas around the front desk.

The demon at the front desk looks rather bored, but when sinners approach? He seems to snap to attention to offer whatever help they might need of him. He will at least direct to food or rooms to rest their wary bodies, or recommend sights to see around the hotel.


Stand Your Ground

Initially, most of the excitement seems to be out of the community. Staff informs the newcomers that residents were sent out to retrieve ancient artifacts for Lucifer. But they'll return soon enough, and seem to have brought something extra along with them. Five groups left, but there are six returning.

The extra caravan is a little older than the others, a crickety vehicle that might be relying on some kind of magic to keep itself from completely falling apart. But it only needs to enter the community gates before it comes to a stop and its inhabitants emerge: two cloaked demons pull open the compartments and windows and begin shouting for attention.

Sinners! There's no need to pray to a God that won't answer you! Why are you slaving yourselves to the bone trying to earn a redemption that may never come? There's so much more to Hell than what you've all been allowed to see!

So it's fortunate that these merchants have come, bearing bounties and treasures from every level of Hell. They've got lucky dice from history's greatest gamblers, gold coins nicked from the Greediest tortures, black tar from the punishments of the wrathful, and so much more. It seems like, whatever you think to ask for, they have exactly what you need. No matter the request, they'll have a suggestion. You're desperate for that rare Pokemon card? They've got three! Need a quickie love potion to get that special someone to return your affection? They've just restocked on those! A key to get home? sure thing, kid, it's right in the back compartment. One key and one map, coming right up.

There's even a freezer that still has a block of some of the very ice from Lucifer's own throne, preserved from the era when he ruled over the barren tundras of Hell's lowest levels.

Oh, the price? Nothing too upsetting. Everything they sell just costs a little bit of your soul. Nothing too crazy. You won't even miss it! They just need you to sign on the dotted line as the tiniest formality and you'll be good to go.

The caravan has gone somewhere else before sinners have time to ask many questions, and be long gone before anyone realizes that there's something wrong with everything. That special card was a forgery, and when you try to show it to someone you find yourself breathing fire instead. The potion makes your special someone break out in rashes, or suddenly become a different gender! And that map to get home leads to a storage closet that unleashes a herd of coal tars. Whether it's a mirror of wisdom that's suddenly reciting all your greatest insecurities for the world to hear or a snake charming flute that only puts people to sleep, it's clear that the community has been swindled.

Whatever souls are spent seem to be gone with the shyster con-goblins that have already scrambled off to find their next marks. Buyers beware, because there are no refunds.


There's Still Green All Around?

With spring just started, the flowers in the park are somehow even more pungent and putting out even stronger pollen, and some extras. The newly-opened Mammon Park in Hellburbia will smell utterly enticing from even far away, and lure people into the fold where pollen might affect them stronger, or plants might welcome them with open arms. Whatever a person loves most will be in the air, leading them in, those pheromones taking hold of them.

The pollen flies farther than ever before, affecting even those in the hotel. Minding your business in the club dancing away or nursing a drink in the hotel lobby? Suddenly that person next to you is the most undeniably attractive person ever and you just have to confess your love, or have them."

Other types may inspire you to become possessive to the point of obsession, or see someone else entirely. Perhaps an old flame, an old enemy… Is it sex or a fight you’re craving? Only time will tell.

All across Penance, there are large dandelions that seem to put out a pleasant aroma that improves moods, small trees that promise to bear fruit and future shade in the community, as well as various other smaller flowers and bushes to spruce the place up.

Mammon Park is a flourishing location with a friendly ice cream demon and other food stands, but most importantly, flora that has been fed with the Savior’s own blood. It has bloomed beautifully in response to this, and wow, is it ever impressive! While everything carries an odd bruised or red look to it, thanks to the blood, it has a certain beauty to it…

Even the hell roses with eyeballs in the center that seem to watch your every move, or the ones that seem to be too close to flesh for comfort. There are also some rather sad, tiny plants that may seem to whimper when sinners pass too closely by, or try to cutely snap at fingers or hands. They don’t even have teeth though, so don’t worry!

There are also some strangely tall weed-like plants that almost seem to hug each other – and passers-by. They’re surely just sharing the love! Mind the thorns though.

To encourage visitors to come to the park, there will be live music and performances of all types to draw in a crowd. There are flowers to pick for that beloved of yours or a place to grill out for your friends. There’s also a fairly tall wishing well, but it’s still under construction… no need to pay much attention to that.

As mentioned, there will be pollen in the air that will encourage good moods and the urge to linger out in the sunshine. Some may see glimpses of it as a yellow dust that’s floating around the air.

Some plants may puff out a pink mist of pollen that encourages love at first sight. or the urge to be romantic.

Others may do black that makes it impossible to hold the tongue. Incessant talking about things you may not want to is a distinct possibility with this one.

Some may very well be immune to the pollen all together and not know why everyone is going crazy around them.

But no sense in avoiding a perfectly welcoming, even romantic affair over a little bit of pollen, right? Right.


Reach Up High

Prompt I: The First Pull is the Hardest

WARNINGS: cutting, blood, torture

Whether you've been here for months or you're freshly arrived, your demonic overlord unfortunately expects some participation despite the current state of things. You can try and shirk the responsibility, of course. You can bargain your way out of it for a while. But eventually, you may find yourself trapped in a room just off the gym that's been fondly dubbed The Torture Room. It has all manner of equipment in there, along with an iron maiden even.

But don't worry about any of that right now. It probably won't be used.

You can try the door, but even with super human strength or every lock picking skill in the book, you won't be able to open it.

It soon becomes apparent what you're supposed to do when someone else is eventually shoved in with you. Both of your lists of sins will appear on a table that's been placed in the center of the room with two handy knives. You can choose to guard these or not care at all that they're on display.

"Unfortunately, due to Father coming back into the picture, I know that He will demand proper punishment be delivered despite our circumstances going forward. I have chosen a rather easy one, focused on honesty and acceptance of your sins. Please pick up a knife and choose a sin from each of your lists to carve upon your skin. Aid each other in your journey, carve the words to help your fellow penitent be candid with everyone around them!"

The voice rings out within the sinners' heads as it always does, although Lucifer seems agitated at the moment, hesitant in some way that he usually isn't.

"I do apologize for this. If it was up to me, you would be free of this nonsense. However, there will be additional incentive for anyone who should try to resist the task I've appointed them."

It isn't a lie nor an idle threat either. The longer you wait to do what's been requested of you, the more shallow cuts that will appear on both of your bodies. Are you really prepared to endure this pain when giving in would be so much easier?

And more than that, are you willing to let another suffer along with you?

Eventually, the cuts will stop if you suffer them long enough, but you'll have failed this challenge and sustained more damage than if you'd just gone along with it. Satan will also be very disappointed in you.


Prompt II

For the chance to remove one sin from their contract, sinners are presented with the opportunity to help out around the hotel, park and other establishments, cleaning, doing repairs, or cooking, etc. Helping out the local demons will certainly win points for those who are newly arrived and show a willingness to work for redemption!

Just don’t be offended when there’s a helpful member of the demonic staff following you around critiquing your methods or how you don’t really know how to season hell boar at all. Disgraceful. You can ask fellow sinners to taste it or to observe it and it will no doubt receive the same critique! But maybe if you manage to convince the helpful demon or prove yourself, they'll agree to vouch for you to Lucifer...


Follow Me Down

Prompt I

WARNINGS: sex pollen, sex, dub-con, non-con, kinks, public displays

Of course Hell is never so simple, is it? There’s a curious purple dust coming from the disturbing hell roses that seems to be spreading all across Penance now, even into the hotel or surrounding establishments. If inhaled, it may cause sudden arousal that may be too great for sinners to ignore. Whether this means touching themselves, falling in with someone(s) close to them, or seeking out the tentacled plants that seem to be coaxing them in and so eager to please…

Well, you certainly get the idea.

The pollen will encourage public displays of shameless sexual acts. Sinners will not care that they are on full display if they’re able to satiate the burning need for more. Fortunately, Mammon also seems to set up some inviting tents that seem to be full of eager sinners and demons that quickly lose themselves in a sea of limbs and pleasure.

There’s no harm in letting go once in a while, is there? And there’s an eager need to be greedy still going around, to claim everything that should be rightfully yours.

If it mixes with other pollen types, reactions may be even more unpredictable, ranging from loving to violent acts that absolutely need to be carried out, or trying something you never thought you would before.>.


Prompt II

WARNINGS: Alcohol and drug abuse, potential non-con/dub-con

With all the sinners, new and old, the hotel bar will be lit up with activity. Drinks will be readily available, there's food in the kitchens if anyone wants to bother serving it, music will be blaring whenever there's electricity, and overall, there will be an energy to the atmosphere that's absolutely contagious. Even if you aren't typically inclined to linger at these sorts of events there may be be a certain pull to stay and have a bit of fun.

You might not get much of a chance to have that in Hell, after all. One drink won't hurt, right? Nor will one more after that, and after that. Ah, sweet gluttony. Why not have a pastry next? There's some delectable sweets available just a few steps away. More of a meat person? Like things salty? Fear not, it looks like someone graciously brought all sorts of snacks and foodstuffs from the kitchens to the bar as the night progresses. Indulge! You deserve it.

Similar to Club Penance, the bar also has every sort of drug available that might tickle your fancy and some you've never heard of. There's no harm in experimenting, is there? You're already in Hell. The staff will offer to show anyone how to use the drugs or give advice for what to try if you tell them what you want to experience. Shockingly, they won't lie! Their advice is good word its just you might not have been exactly prepared for it.

There's a stage and a karaoke machine for those feeling brave or just wanting to torture people with some sweet, sweet renditions of The Devil Went Down to Georgia.

There are tables set up for all sorts of gambling and various bar games to entertain yourself with. Since currency as most are familiar with it doesn't quite exist down here, most of the demons seem to be accepting bits of your soul or offers to do chores around the hotel. You may also get pulled into a fun game of strip poker against one of your fellow guests for a few succubi that are having a night out.

Relax and enjoy your night. Coming here and facing your sins is the hard part, so surely you deserve to have a little fun.


Wildcard/Misc.

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Inej Ghafa (CRAU) | Grishaverse (books) | OTA

[tricktofalling]

1. Arrival
Sleeping becomes dreaming, becomes horror. She has had nightmares off and on for years, but this is a new one. She knows, she can feel, that it must only be a dream--but, at the same time, it feels real. Real heat, real pain, real concern when she joins a queue, receives a scroll signed in blood, and is loosed into a foyer.

There's something familiar about this place. She can't quite place it. Deja vu, certainly, and nothing that need concern her at the moment. Instead, she tucks the scroll away and looks around.

"Excuse me," she says, feeling someone nearby but not yet looking up as she settles her things and smooths out her clothing. "Can you tell me where I actually am?"


2. The First Pull
She doesn't want to be in here. There doesn't seem to be anything for it. Despite knowing that her own scroll of signs is held safely on her person, a copy lays on the table beside someone else's.

She looks at the knives on the table as well, and frowns, looking over at her fellow captured person.

"If it's all the same to you," she says softly and quietly, "I'd prefer to use my own and not the ones here. Who knows where these have been."


3. Wildcard
[Inej comes from a sweet SOL game where she's been for five and a half years - she's fully grown and a little more filled out than in canon. Feel free to assume she's around for any of the prompts, and go ahead and tag her with whatever~]

2. The First Pull

[zunge]

The other person glowers her way before making a beeline for the table to snap up a scroll. He peels it open to check whether it's his, then furls it back up upon confirmation.

Has Inej ever seen anyone with this many piercings? Probably not. The blond sighs in annoyance. "Makes no difference to me." He turns to narrow his eyes, tone composed with an air of detachment. "But they better be on you right now. Don't waste my time." Take too long to start, and the cuts will start to appear. A lot of cuts.

It makes no difference in the end, for reasons she won't suspect. It's because this type of torture session will allow him to feel the pain of his injuries, so he wins regardless of whether he cooperates or refuses to participate.

[tricktofalling]

Inej has, in fact, seen plenty of people with lots of piercings. Back home, before Ketterdam, and after arriving in Darrow, though less there, surprisingly. It's hardly anything of note, as far as she's concerned.

But the question about whether or not she has her knives on her? That might almost be a professional offense. She twists her hand slightly to trigger the wrist sheath, catching the knife quickly and easily. It may have been years since she's needed to use it for something like this, but that doesn't mean the skill's gone out of her.

"You were saying."

[zunge]

Pale green eyes watch as it appears. Hmm, hidden weaponry. His expression remains neutral, nigh unreadable. "That works. Does it matter to you who cuts who first?"

He stuffs the scroll into the waistband on his pants, patting it into place securely.

[tricktofalling]

"No," she says, shaking her head. She goes and picks up her own scroll--or this strange replica of it, anyway--rolling it up tight with her free hand. "Only whoever goes second will have a shakier hand, generally speaking. So I should be gracious and let you do it. Not knowing what your hand is like normally. Did you do all those yourself?"

She gestures with the tip of her knife at his face and the assortment of piercings.

[zunge]

"Yeah. All except the ones in my tongue and nape." There are more not visible, covered by his clothes and the thin white bandages wrapped around his hands from knuckle down past the wrist. He holds out his right hand for the knife.

"Pick where you want it and which sin from your list."

[tricktofalling]

She nods, like that's settled something in her. It has, honestly. Someone that can inflict something like that on themself can definitely do it on someone else, no matter how difficult it might be.

She sets the knife down, briefly, and removes her light coat, rolls up both her sleeves. There's a spray of black birds on her forearms, an arrangement the makes a pretty picture either separate or together, this still-dark ink stain of a relatively young tattoo. On the flat side of her forearms, though, the skin is bare, unmarked, and smooth. No more peacock feather. No cup and crow. No gruesome skinning scar.

She taps her right forearm. "Here," she says. "To say sacrilege."

[zunge]

It helped that most of them didn't hurt at all. Only the two in his tongue did. The others, well, they were all in parts of his body that couldn't normally feel pain. But it did mean that he had few qualms about causing injury to others. The only real concern here would be his knifemanship.

He takes up the knife, turning it over in his hands in a casual inspection. When she specifies the sin the gears in his head start turning. Which language... Japanese would be easiest, with most characters being full of straight lines and involving minimal curves. But probably not kanji. That's a lot of strokes between the two characters. Hiragana then. Four characters, but all relatively simple ones. A nice and neat ぼ う と く.

Holding the knife, he takes her wrist and holds it in place as he begins to work on the ぼ.

[tricktofalling]

It's a script she's unfamiliar with, and if it weren't for the pain, she might have questions to ask. As it is, she's mostly aware, in watching, that it ought to be on something more stable and less fragile and malleable than skin. There's an imperfection, a muddled confusion, in how the cuts turn out.

And it hurts. She knows it will. After all the times she's been stabbed, starved, beaten and burned, she knows that it will hurt. Still, all of that is far enough behind her that this pain is bright and new. Relearning.

She hisses between her teeth.

[zunge]

Yeah, the trouble with using skin as the canvas is that it's flexible and fleshy. Not the best properties for cutting into a material. Noiz casually runs his tongue over his lip as he does his best to keep his grip firm and the blade steady. The straight strokes look all right. It's the curves and proportions where it suffers a bit.

His gaze flicks up to her face when he hears that hiss, and his fingers pause for a moment. "How's the depth? Too deep? Too shallow?" One of those things he has very little experience with. Most of the cuts he's had were either accidental or during the course of a fight with someone wielding blades. In nearly all cases, he never even noticed the injury until seeing the blood itself. This woman's feedback should prove helpful.

[tricktofalling]

"Don't stop about it, you'll make it worse." Her voice is gentle, kind. Too experienced. She appreciates the concern, but it isn't necessary. It's deep enough to leave the mark, shallow enough that he hasn't done any serious damage. The more they linger, the worse it will be to tolerate.

"It has been a while," she says, careful in the way she chooses her words, her strange, ambiguous accent thickening. "I forgot what a knife feels like, I suppose."

[greedbowstome]

Kaz is not the one she’s speaking to, because Kaz is somewhere several feet behind her, rooted to the spot when he turned the corner and saw her up ahead. No. Not again. She couldn’t be here again, she deserved this place least of any of them.

It could be a trick. A falsehood. A vision. Hell does like those quite a lot.

But she’s moving— graceful as ever, even when she isn’t trying to be— and she’s talking and it doesn’t seem possible she couldn’t be real.

He pulls himself together and forces one foot in front of the other, cane clacking dutifully in time with his steps, which are suddenly purposefully headed toward her. “Inej,” can her name sound like anything but a prayer on his lips in this moment?

[tricktofalling]

There is a specificity to Kaz Brekker that Inej has gotten used to over the years of knowing him, in Ketterdam and more deeply in Darrow. She knows the sound of his movement, the specific ways the cane and his shoes carry him. There are so many possible people that it could be, but she knows it's him before she turns her head to look at him.

Kaz will, of course, know that there's differences. She's older by a few years, fuller, and the dark spray of ink-to-birds on her forearms shows in minor flashes.

It's hard to stay composed, looking at him. Younger than the last time she saw him. Buttoned and controlled, even to see her. She turns completely towards him, focus absolutely gone from her original question and the non-answers she was receiving.

[greedbowstome]

He takes it all in with a careful sweep of his eyes. All the subtle, but obvious, differences about her. It’s impossible not to, because only weeks ago, she was here and younger than the woman in front of him. But it’s her, he has no doubt of that at all.

Being in public means the gloves are present, but underneath the one on his left hand, he is more aware than ever of the ring he never actually took off.

Does this negate the time he spent holed away in that room, grieving her absence? It certainly doesn’t feel like it does. The sting of that loss still rests near the center of his chest, like a hole had been carved out just for that grief to nestle into.

“You don’t… remember, do you?” The question is clipped, the way he might ask something he doesn’t actually want the answer to, but his voice is softer around the edges, in a way reserved only for her. “Being here before.” He doesn’t. He doesn’t want the answer he’s almost positive he will get, but he needs to hear it, from her mouth to his ear.

[tricktofalling]

It's its own echo. This is a far more pleasant arrival, if that can be said about a place that alleges to be Hell, than the last time she came upon him and he asked her such things.

She gives him an understanding look, living in her eyes, and shakes her head. She doesn't remember any earlier time here, just as she did not remember an earlier time in Darrow. For her, it's a continuous line--not so, for the man she loves.

"How long have I been gone?"

[greedbowstome]

"A month." Which seems wrong, it seems simultaneously like it should be longer and that it can't have been that long already. But that's how the past month has felt in general, partially due to the journey to the temple of the Veiled Order, the circular nature of that entire mission.

[tricktofalling]

A month? A month. She wishes it had been a month for her, her gut tying up with anguish that, for a moment, stings in her eyes. There's no space to be mad with him about it. Time is funny, she's learned, in all the places that aren't home.

There's a choke in her voice, a thick frustration. "It's been over a year, for me. Where I was."

[greedbowstome]

He catches it, the glassy look in her eyes, the emotion thick on her tongue. It tugs at something tight in his chest, though he isn't sure what to do about it. The longer this conversation continues, the more he's unsure this needs to be happening here. His eyes cut around the lobby and the unease of it all settles in the tight set of his jaw.

Still, his eyes are drawn back to her. How could he stray for very long at all? He has been a moth to her flame for far too long to deny it now. Where she was. Another place such as this, somewhere... not home. It's not a difficult concept to follow from her words and he nods, "It seems the way of these... other worlds."

It's painfully pragmatic, all logic and completely disconnected from the emotion ever-tightening his chest.

It isn't what he wants to say at all.

His eyes cut around the lobby again before he makes a gesture for her to follow, "Let's go... somewhere more private." Some things have changed during his time in Hell, but Kaz Brekker is never going to be a man who likes to have conversations in public.

Jesper is convinced that the elevator is on its last leg, says he can feel it in the car, but five flights of stairs is ridiculous when this option exists, and he leads her into the elevator to go up to the proper floor. For the moment, he's going to staunchly ignore the fact that barely a month ago he was sharing this room with her.

"I've been here a couple of months shy of a year," he says, stepping out of the elevator on the fifth floor and leading the way down the hall. "How long were you... in the other place?" Was it terrible? What sort of things did she have to deal with while she was there? Was he there? Was Jesper? And so many other questions burn a hole at the end of his tongue because he refuses to let his mouth be as over-eager as his mind is as he opens the door to their his suite.

[tricktofalling]

The elevator ride is quiet, but not suffocatingly so. She longs to slide her hand into his, to curl and knot their fingers together, to rememorize him. But he, standing there and locked up in this introversion, is a memory of a boy she grew close with, that lived with her fears and traumas and let her live with his, that became husband and father before he was gone.

She fears to be so much a different person than he remembers, and that he will be different than she remembers. But, Saints, just to be near him, a breath between their shoulders, fills the void of loss all anew.

"It will be six years, in winter," she says as they walk the hall and to a door, letting into a spacious, well appointed flat.

She expects, for a moment, the holler of their children. But of course, they aren't there.

[greedbowstome]

"Saints," he breathes it out in a swear, barely able to process the idea of it. He can hardly accept that he's been here nearly a year. Six feels unfathomable.

There's a feeling in the room, unnamable and heavy. He hasn't actually removed any of the things that belonged to her that stayed behind when she disappeared. There are touches that might look like they definitely didn't, at any point, belong to Kaz, scattered around but the most obvious piece might be a knife resting on the mantle above the fireplace.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says it, but it's stilted and stiff and he still feels a little bit like he's on uneven ground. Conveniently, there's a couch just a few feet away and he moves to sink into it. Somehow, through the long and winding months here, it's become a sort of comfort-space.

He rests his cane against the endtable and hesitates on whether to remove the gloves. He's grown used to not wearing them in the suite, but... they are their own sort of comfort, too, so he doesn't take them off just yet. "You shouldn't be here." He says quietly. "When she..." he pauses and course-corrects, "when you left, I thought maybe it's better that way...this place, it's– you don't deserve what this place does to people." Not that Hell cares about that sort of thing at all. What is or isn't deserved.

He wonders, idly, if she's noticed the fangs. He's grown irritatingly used to them over time, he doesn't pay as much mind since he's mostly adjusted to the feeling of extra teeth in his mouth. If she has, she hasn't said anything, but Kaz knows better than to think Inej needs to speak of something to notice it.

[tricktofalling]

Inej cases the flat without even really meaning to. Looking at all the details, all the loose things, all the memory that has been laid into things. She can't help doing it. Her time with the Dregs made it an easy thing to hold onto, and the years helping Kaz with the Crow Club in Darrow kept it up. There are bits of a her not herself here, and it feels, all over again, like arriving in Darrow and finding the hints and edges of where she was before.

Kaz is tumbling over himself with the whole thing, and Inej gives him the space that she knows he needs. She needs it too. So, rather than sitting, she goes into the kitchen and bustles around in search of tea or coffee, and a pot to make it with. There has to be something. She knows Kaz Brekker.

"If you think for a moment that I don't deserve to be judged my sins, Kaz Brekker, this place has made you into a bigger fool than I remember you being."

[greedbowstome]

The moment, while she takes everything in, is hanging on a knife's edge and he watches her carefully. Not because he thinks he needs to be on edge around her, but because this is so jarring, much more than it had been when Nina disappeared and arrived again. Because it's Inej. Because of the obvious ways she is not the girl she left him as, older, more lived.

"That's actually not what I said." he points out, eyebrows arched upward as he looks over at her comment. He wouldn't actually begrudge her the judgment she felt she deserved. "But this place has nothing to do with your Saints or their judgments."

[tricktofalling]

Inej looks over her shoulder at him, cocking an eyebrow. It isn't the exact words, but it's a certain meaning and concern that he's expressing, an idea that it would be better if she wasn't here. But this is a place of suffering, isn't it? And this isn't just paying for the sins of their lives, either.

They were both suffering, in their own ways, a chasm between them at the moment.

"No," she agrees. From arrival to this room, she can believe that. "So, give me some armor for this fight. Tell me what to expect."

[greedbowstome]

Air rushes back into the room when she makes that particular demand. It was practical, it was normal, the natural ebb and flow of them in his office, her perched in the window feeding birds as he went over books or plans and thought out loud to her and she gave him her opinions on why something might not work, or why it was a perfect way to make his move.

It's easy to give her the basics, an introduction to the regular tortures they're pulled into like cutting their sins into their skin, things meant to be pushing them into earning their redemption– and further than that, the more magical nature of punishments, spiked drinks, poisoned food, things that force your will into something you wouldn't normally choose.

"I lost an entire month, at one point. Living a life that was a lie with a family that...I definitely believed was mine." Wholeheartedly. Through and through. Had memories on stacks of memories of growing up with Sara and Nicole. Of course, none of it was true. None of what he went through in Hellburbia was real. At least, it was only as real as yes, it happened, but all sense of connection he'd felt to the people in it had been promptly cut off the second he was back to himself. Except for Ava and Tech, he supposes they were pieces of that life that lingered, but not in anything like the same way in that other life.

[tricktofalling]

She hates every second of it. That she might experience any of it, her will stripped down to the bones. That Kaz has. There's a longing in her to comfort him, but she can't--she can't, not yet. She doesn't think either of them can.

In the end, all she can do is make the coffee and bring it over. She sits on the floor on the other side of the low table, steaming mugs between them. How she's missed him--how he's clearly missed her. He speaks of the tortures, both physical and psychological, and she files each and every one of them away. Haven't they both had enough of that on their own?

"I am glad you're on the other side of it," she says softly. Even if the other side has different memories of her here, she would rather Kaz be himself than someone else. "And the others...?"

It's been ages since she's seen anyone else from home. She doesn't wish them here, but if they are going to suffer these things, she would rather suffer them alongside friends.