Ryslig | IC inbox

[figlia_morbida]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, TRISH UNA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 867.53.099.99 *** Zigazigah has joined 867.53.099.99 <Zigazigah> Don't talk to me. <Zigazigah> Thanks.

Main Username: < Zigazigah >

Public Appearance UN: < Western_Horizon >

Anon: < sharpdistance > , < kidcharlemagne > (not actually anon now because of Hinata)

Comments

action, 8/14

[digiorno]

[He isn't feeling any better.]

[It's not that different than how it was before, not really. Even back in Napoli, every morning for weeks he'd wake up and not realize for moments or minutes that things had broken down. That people were dead. It isn't better here. It doesn't hurt any less. He doesn't have fewer nightmares. In fact, he has more. Bruno with his chest cavity scraped clean and his muscles atrophied. Steve with poles through his torso, one after another after another, staring out from blank eyes. At him. They always stare at him.]

[He's trying to sleep, even so. He can feel Fugo's eyes on the back of his neck whenever he puts it off. But even when the nightmares don't get him, he stays up staring into nothing, just thinking. How he did something wrong and still, no matter how much he thinks about it, he can't connect the final threads.]

[Part of him thinks to ignore it. That she'll bring it up if she wants to, and if not they'll get over it. But instinct tells him that for Trish, for the both of them, that's not how this will go down. And what if something happens to one of them tomorrow?]

[It's not a problem he can solve on his own. That's what has him knocking on her door late in the evening one night, a soft sound that's a lot more tentative than he intends it to be.]

. . . It's me. Do you have a moment?

[figlia_morbida]

[Trish has thought often about the concept of liminal spaces. Every night she thinks and dreams of a place called Italy, and every morning she wakes up in a place that isn't her home, surrounded by people she never thought she'd see again.

It isn't until one of the boys responds to her, or her hands touch something uniquely Ryslig that she enters into this new world properly again, feeling solid instead of blithely formless. That week she spent morphed into some awful sea creature is a blur now. All she can recall is pain, fear, hunger, and the fading suggestion of Giorno's presence at her periphery. The most she felt herself was when she stared down a phantom and violently sent him away, his own form liquefying in a way that wasn't wholly unfamiliar with regards to how she bled at the edges herself.

And then a girl named Riley implied, for a little bit, that there was another Trish, and that weird feeling comes back. There are two of her, one in Italy and one in a different Ryslig. And she is neither, some muddled imitation that shies away from a familiarity she was never part of. That she touched with hopeful, tentative fingers, watching it crumble.

She doesn't plan to mention it again.

If Giorno is anything like Bucciarati, and he is, then talking to him will only ever work if he's amenable to it himself. He never does anything without a reason that speaks to him and him alone.

So when the soft knock comes, she sits up with a start, frowning at her door almost suspiciously.

Fortunately for him, she's not quick to fall asleep most days, but she is silent for a stretch.]

You do know that's a silly thing to ask, don't you?

[She is neither gainfully employed nor a monster herself yet, and so there is no frolicking in the night for her. These things are sort of related with the danger looming around every corner.]

I have more moments than I know what to do with. Come in.

[She's rolling out from under her cozy sheets in the meantime, mostly so she can sit near the edge of the bed with her legs crossed.]

10/15; private | <harmonia>

[digiorno]

[Just a few minutes after she responds to Elias, she receives a private text.]

i left something in your room next time you're in. don't let anyone see it but the other two, please.

[Fugo and Bruno, obviously.]

[What she'll find is a handwritten transcript of his conversation with Elias, including a description of how the key was presented and annotated with his thoughts. Underneath it, a several-times-underlined statement.]

The park takes away monster powers & would kill me.

[Somewhat below that:]

Wanted to keep you up to date. In all likelihood he can read all network threads. Don't talk to Reira about this at all. I will not be going to the park. I will monitor the Cube. Available & at home should you need me.

<Zigazigah> --> action

[figlia_morbida]

[Huh. Admittedly, sudden private messages make her nervous, but seeing Giorno's username is a relief.

The last thing she wants is weird people inboxing her!!! She does wait to respond before she sees his note, just so she knows what's going on.]

Don't be surprised when I come straight to you afterwards, then.

[And she does, because that note is insanely worrying in several different ways, and her semi-retractable claws flex unconsciously, pricking holes in the paper.

First off, the network is not safe.

Second...this god basically all but threatened Giorno. What a bastard move for someone who pleaded for help.

Wherever Giorno happens to be, Trish will walk in pensively, having followed the aroma of his flowers instead of inquiring after his location. She also looks distantly pissed off at everything, until her eyes settle on him.

Her expression doesn't soften exactly, so much as it hardens in a thoughtful way. She was almost intent on avoiding the god nonsense, but knowing it's so intertwined with even a creature comfort is both harrowing and annoying.]

...I read your note.

[She swallows, remembering how cheerfully Elias spoke and how easily he manipulated Giorno's laptop.]

Giorno, how do we know we're not being watched all the time? Between the laptops and the fog, I'm starting to realize I've been entirely careless.

[Giorno wasn't a common feature on the network...but if Elias is listening through the laptops, then the fog god is listening in the mist hanging around them, right?

Her tail flicks back and forth, a worried, curled metronome.]

Do we even have alternatives for long distance communication?

11/10ish; continuing my domination of your inbox

[devilsproof]

[Truth be told, Nai'a Nights really doesn't feel like a job.]

[Oh, Beatrice has to do things. She's learning that. She can't just decide not to go to work because she doesn't feel like it, which is sort of like an obligation, she supposes. But when she takes time to think about it, Nai'a is much nicer than her empty apartment full of scrap and debris, vacant except for her. She's happier at Nai'a, because it's always busy. There are always people and noise and so much movement, people enjoying themselves, explosive energy and fascinating conversation.]

[And of course, she gets to show off.]

[Her show is still a work in progress. The more power she gains, the more she gets used to this new body, the more ideas she gets. The problem now is streamlining them. So far, she's largely followed the lead of other performers, most of whom aren't actually mers, but for the last week or so she's been incorporating more and more flare. For example: whispers resonate throughout the bar in the moments before her performance begins, announcing her arrival. Her eyes glow red along with her mouth, long enough for a leisurely lap of the tank, before returning to their normal color. She projects her voice, calling all to watch the wonders she's about to perform, announcing the arrival of Beatrice the Golden—]

[—fish. (She doesn't actually say that part.)]

[Sometimes, in between performances, she naps in her tank. Not all the time, but who's it going to hurt when she feels like it? No one, that's who. So that's where she is today when bass vibrations hum her awake. Opening one eye and then the other, she squints at the pane of glass across from her and yawns, watching it vibrate in time with the music.]

[It doesn't take long for her curiosity to get the best of her. She swims lazily out into the open and up to the side of the tank, peering out at the stage. There's just one person up there, one girl. She's seen her around before, but never heard her play before. Drumming her nails thoughtfully on the glass, she listens for a few bars, then opens her mouth and lets out a haunting hum that replicates those last few bars, amplified to be audible outside of the tank.]

i accept this [crawls in so late also] / cw: death implied

[figlia_morbida]

[Trish didn't start performing on her own right away. She watched the other talent Nai'a had to offer, sitting with her legs crossed, an orange notebook on her knees, writing down what she would and wouldn't like for her own performances.

Practice came next, and she joined a few seasoned, human performers who would usually play a set with the monster talent of the night, though with the way monsters came and went these people often ended up filling the gaps left behind. They're kind enough, they have to be to bother with monsters at all.

And then...she's on her own.

She would be the last to ever admit she was nervous, but the quailing of her heart spoke otherwise. Every beat tinged with doubt, but like everything else she's ever done since February 2001...she simply lets herself lean forward and freefall into the moment. There's no one, nothing to hold on to but herself anymore, ever since she woke up to her mother's hand cold in her own.

It gets easier. Eventually, it feels natural.

Today it's rather gloomy outside, and she introduces her set by commenting on that fact, and you know what? The music ought to match.

And so it does, Trish swaying gently in place, lips nearly brushing the mic, like she's whispering a secret to it and it alone.]

My friends are so distressed;
They're standing on the brink of emptiness.
No words I know of to express
This emptiness.

I love all of you
Hurt by the cold.
So hard and lonely, too,
When you don't know yourself...♫

[She dives into the bridge, her focus entirely on her performance...and then there's a voice synchronizing with the thrum of her bass, and it reminds her of when Kate joined her for Halloween, almost. That was an event where anyone could join in, while Nai'a has something of a schedule. So who...?

Trish's ears twitch as she listens, leaning back from the mic to look here, there and – oh. She recognizes this mer. Beatrice the Golden, a regular performer and one bewitching to behold in motion by virtue of her form alone, all frills and color. Trish's notes on her performances were more about the energy and drama on display, since she can't exactly replicate the ability to swim in a tank and sing. Regardless, Beatrice had a particular flair, although Trish isn't sure what makes the mer tick, and thus whatever lies underneath that flair is a mystery.

Intrigued, Trish decides to harmonize with Beatrice in the spirit of one Miss Denson, humming along for the instrumental. She raises a brow at Beatrice too, having turned slightly to watch the mer but otherwise, unless Beatrice decides to abscond, she is now being integrated into this melancholy exchange.]

early-ass morning, 12/5. <harmonia>

[digiorno]

t rS

//////////IIIIISOS Sosos

[what on earth could this be.]

[figlia_morbida]

[Trish doesn't sleep during fogs either, suffice it to say. She wants to be up when the sun is up and that will simply never change. Even if she is a whole-ass bear for the entire week.

She doesn't know why she bothers checking her laptop when it pings then, as much of a hassle as it is with her huge paws, but if someone is messaging her...her curiosity will win out every time.

So it's quite a thing to carefully pry it open with long pink claws, to poke carefully at the keys and input her password, to open her inbox and see the most incoherent message she's ever gotten from Giorno in her life.

Is he drunk???

Do you need help, sir.]

where are you

[See, Giorno. She likes you enough to painfully tap out a response with her stupid claws.]

[hairday]

[ When Trish was talking about her bass playing, it was the most delighted Steve has ever seen her. It's kind of a no brainer that he should try to get something for her in that vein, or so he's decided. Walking into the music store was... a lot. But after receiving some help from the people working there, he thinks he's settled on something she'll like.

Under the Nattensfest tree on Nattensfest day, Trish will find a box wrapped in cherry red paper if only because he couldn't find pink.

The rectangular metal thing inside is pink, however. And if she plugs it into her bass and fiddles with the dials, her strums will start to sound a lot more funky. ]

[reactions required dot wav no reply needed!!]

[figlia_morbida]

[Steve is seriously the worst.

Of course he has to be there in person, just to drink in the reactions, because for all that she likes to give him shit...he's always been a thoughtful boy.

Still, she can't hide her awe when she opens her gift to find a bass pedal of all things. Steve had to do research, which is a hell of a thing to imagine. She didn't think he retained the image of all the equipment she dragged with her to the Halloween party, but he did...

Bastard.

Unfortunately, her borrowed bass is back at Naia, so he'll have to catch her funky new tunes another time.]

Happy Nattenmas!

[unholey]

[Throughout the month of December, Fugo has slowly been placing a number of items underneath the Hill House Nattenfest tree. They are all neatly and precisely wrapped with paper featuring ugly sweaters (of course). He also fries up a large batch of struffoli and bakes some mustaccioli for the house. If you get a gift, you get a carefully-packaged portion of struffoli and mustaccioli.

Given that Trish has stolen a bunch of his cast-off projects, she probably won’t be too surprised when the large, heavy box she unwraps turns out to be a larger piece of string art. This one is made out of pink thread and not spider silk, so hopefully meets her standards of "not gross".]

[figlia_morbida]

[Fugo, it is partially your fault she was also sucked into the gift reckoning.

Regardless, if Fugo is watching her unwrap his gift, there is the unmistakable to-and-fro of her tail at the sight of the string art. She's not a dog, of course, but it's a very animal way to telegraph interest and excitement!

He's probably not a visitor to her room, ever, so it is only natural for her to place it on the wall by her bed, to be admired by whoever does happen to walk in.

Grazie, nerd.]

[unfastens]

[ merry christmas, Trish!! She'll find a small, neatly-wrapped box waiting at her place at the table, addressed to her in Bruno's blocky handwriting. She is the hardest one to buy for. Does she know that!? He settled on jewelry eventually; in contrast to her usual flashy looks, though, he's gotten her a small and subtle butterfly pendant. Made with no silver, of course. A symbol of rebirth.

There's also a small parcel of three or four cookies tied with a ribbon alongside it. In typical Bruno fashion, there's no letter or note - just the gift itself. His actions speak for him! ]

[figlia_morbida]

[She's seen enough of Giorno and Fugo's handwriting to know that this gift could only be from Bucciarati. Wholly unexpected, admittedly, and she will ponder over the pendant in the privacy of her room later that day.

Butterflies are...one of the few acceptable bugs around. She won't ever touch one, but they are beautiful. As beautiful and fleeting as they are ever-present in the natural world.

She wonders if this means he's forgiven her, or is on his way to doing so, but she doesn't have the courage to ask.]

nattenfest

[isawallflower]

[ Everyone at Hill House receives a copious amount of Riley’s holiday tradition, fresh-baked gingersnaps. Trish is no exception, as she’s hand delivered a little bag of them to her.

Under the tree, Trish will find a gift basket. A little nervous, Riley explains with a caveat that she knows nothing’s going to quite reach what she’s familiar with, and she’s sorry about that—but she tried her best to track down whatever meats and cheeses most resemble Italian cuisine that she could. Some from delis, some from restaurants. It’s not quite the same, that’s for sure. But it’s close. A little piece of home. ]

Nattenfest

[gothicgambit]

[Obviously, Trish and Celeste aren't unbelievably close, but she knows the kind of girl Trish is well enough.

So Nattenfest brings a gift.

It's a black box, but the lining is a complimentary shade of almost gentle pink. It's small enough to be held between both hands, and contains a bottle of raw perfume in a pretty crystalline bottle. The scent is floral, bright, and thick. It smells unfairly expensive.

Raw perfume - intended to be diluted, or used with extreme care. It can cover any scent, and doesn't come off with transformations. I find this blend rather elegant.

Celestia

[because reactions are fun]

[figlia_morbida]

[They've been on the periphery of one another's notice, so it's almost not surprising to see what Celeste has left her; rather, it's surprising to receive anything at all, but from the sheer power behind the scent packaged within hits Trish's nose like Miss Ludenberg personally socked her with as mean of a right hook as a slight-looking girl like Celeste can. And that was just from popping the lid, but bear noses are as much of a boon as they are a curse.

In any case, Trish is struck by...the consideration only another persnickety girl-turned-monster would have over whether or not perfume will persist between forms.

Which Trish appreciates a lot, actually.

Whether Celeste is aware or not about how much Trish struggles with being a monster, the thought is much appreciated. Between Celeste and Giorno, she'll be the nicest smelling bear in Ryslig...]

MERR CRISIS

[endlesspastability]

[There is a small, sloppily wrapped package left for Trish under the Hill House Nattenfest tree, along with a handwritten note on festive paper.

In the package are a slicker brush and a round hair brush. There is also a bright pink sticky hand.... The note reads;

"TRISH!!!

MERRY NATTENWHATEVER HAPPY CRISMAS!! I'm so jealous of you people who became furry monsters but I'm sure its a hard adjustment. Since I was born furry, I can help! These were my favorite kind of brushes when I had hair all over. Scratching your head with the metal one is like heaven. Also helps to get a bunch of shed out!!! Maybe you can sell the shed pink fur to someone to make yarn or something??? I'm sure there's some weirdo out there that would needlefelt with it.

Your Fellow Cotton-candy colored pal,
SONIC"]

[hopesong]

[The gift that Kate leaves Trish is wrapped in a simple box, without much fanfair and a neat bow on it, with a letter attached:]

Hope your holidays are full of cheer, and hoping we'll play and sing together again soon.

Hope this can give your new and even more fun ways to play.

-Kate

[Inside of the box is an Ebow.]

[the fate of the ebow no reply needed!!]

[figlia_morbida]

[What the fuck, Kate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kate just likes to happen, doesn't she? Between her and Steve, this young musician is spoiled and baffled in equal measure.

The Ebow is taken to Nai'a for proper experimentation, at least. It's too fancy to ferry back and forth between home and work, so at Nai'a it will stay.

Thanks, country girl senpai.]

December 22nd

[epitaffio]

Trish!
We need to talk about something, Bucciarati saw me at that fucked up theme park.

[... And so did Abbacchio, but he's pretty sure he didn't recognise him, so that's beside the point. Also oh yeah considering how that whole mess ended--]

Did you get out ok

[figlia_morbida]

[It's an odd feeling, getting messages from someone who is a persona non grata to most everyone here at the hill house, but Trish still opens Doppio's message.

Part of it feels like a betrayal, but she can't...if Doppio is willing to reach out to her instead of immediately calling it off after what is already sounding like a poor encounter, then she'll do it. She'll keep this dialogue open with her as the liaison, exactly as Bruno didn't want her to. But she's obligated, isn't she? She's the only one willing to do it, as far as she can tell.]

I did, yes. It was a headache and everyone was out of their damn minds, but I'm fine.

What happened with Bucciarati?

nattensfest 2021.

[devilsproof]

[from beatrice, trish receives thirteen colors of pink nail polish, from pink so pale it's almost white to so dark it's almost black. all contain at least some sparkle.]

nattensfest 2021.

[gitanes]

[from lila, trish receives a jazz album — not either of the artists they discussed, obviously, but a soft, emotional, sultry female vocalist is the central figure all the same. a dress.]

nattensfest 2021.

[digiorno]

[from giorno, trish receives 3 pairs of earrings; two hair accessories; a small box full of lotions, fur conditioning products, candles, and other smell-producing things that produce smells trish will enjoy — not so strong it will overpower her bear nose, but strong enough that it will hopefully make her think less about being a bear; and cherry blossom petit fours.]

[figlia_morbida]

[She should expect it, maybe, but opening her gift from Giorno to a cavalcade of thoughtful gifts, from jewelry to lotions and conditioner and sweet treats?!?!

He's Italian like her, he has to know this is excess, but...it is Giorno. He's not one to ever be outdone, traditions be damned.

She'll hold onto this for his birthday, when she can return the favor when he least expects it from her, and after she's had a little more time to learn his idiosyncrasies even better. Cheers, Don Giovanna.]

DEC 25 - HAPPY NATTENSFEST

[standless]

[Though he doesn't know her well, Jonathan at least knows that she is acquainted with his son- and for that matter, he's spoken to Trish at least once, which to his sensibilities means she's getting at least Something. Thus, Jonathan sends a drawn holiday card, depicting a set of wintering songbirds he's drawn; along with a small tin of biscuits, and some teas. He writes in the card that he hopes that this much was not too great an assumption of taste! Also, do stay safe!]

no need to reply but late nattensfest musing

[figlia_morbida]

[Trish is once again mystified that even someone she met all of once thought about her...for a girl who felt forgotten by the world for two very long months, Nattensfest has made her aware how much has changed.

She'll pass a card off to Giorno to have delivered to Jojo, a card with holiday-themed birds, in a sort of reciprocation since he drew some very simple and elegant ones for her. He must have some interest in them to do that, you know?

She wonders if he loves animals as much as his son does.

Her message is in English, since she recalls something about him being British. A heartfelt but simple thank you in sweeping script.]

Jan. 9th, just after sundown (a delayed nattensfest 2021 from your were senpai)

[dead_eyed_wolf]

[So Mukuro's never really hung out around Hill House much. Her territory is elsewhere, and while she likes everyone here well enough, those closest to her heart also live nearby. But there's one particular resident she's been concerned about. One she's been thinking about, now that the holidays have passed and she's recovered from her emotional crisis. Now that she has the bandwidth to look after others rather than just barely clinging on herself.

So here she is, a little awkward but determined nevertheless. There's a heavy totebag slung over one shoulder, and whatever's inside is clearly hot food because it smells incredible. She has no idea what she's doing or where her target is, but that's okay, she'll figure it out as she goes. Because it's not about being perfect, it's about trying. So. Mukuro taps her claws lightly against the door her nose has led her to, speaking up in a soft, clear voice.]

Trish...? It's Mukuro.

When Santa shows up at your door bc you need to go outside

[figlia_morbida]

[Trish is finding that if people don't show up for awhile...they're busy with life or a crisis or both. So it goes.

Anyways, she's lounging in her room out of habit at this point. Occasionally, she ventures out to watch some old, bad television – but tonight finds her simply laying about with her chin resting on her mattress. What is she doing? Jack and shit. If she's bored enough, she'll read the network. She used to bug Fugo, but he's mysteriously become very busy in what seems like the blink of an eye, like he's working five desk jobs. She's peeked, she's seen him with a pile of papers!

There's little to break the monotony now, and tonight appears no different...until the smell of food hits Trish's nostrils, and she perks up at how close the scent is, swiveling her head towards her door moments before Mukuro knocks.

Wait.]

Mukuro?

[Comes the incredulous reply.

It's not like Trish is unhappy to hear the werewolf, but she's awfully far from home, isn't she? The werebear rises awkwardly with how fast she moves, because part of her is worried for exactly that reason. Mukuro can watch the doorknob shake and rattle for a moment, since it takes Trish a few tries to get it still some days. It's so small compared to her huge paws...

Anyways, it swings open to reveal the werebear, looking down at Mukuro with a bowed head, asking:]

Is something wrong?

[Although...it doesn't seem like it? The food smell is coming from Mukuro, who is neither breathing hard nor anything else that would suggest panic.

What is happening.]

LATENATTENSFEST GIFT TIME

[gobo_projection]

[In addition to the cookies and key charm, Reira's gotten something else for Trish!

There's a lot of Pink in Trish's, but that's maybe just her brand. Reira's gotten together all of her experience in this place to put forth the ULTIMATE CARE KIT. Spa kit? A very nice brush, some nail stuff, shampoos and things...There's also a great big towel wrapping it all up! ....Well, underneath the wrapping paper of course. The towel is probably the best part of the present actually.]

an extremely belated nattenfest gift

[riproduzione]

[ Thinking of something to purchase for Trish proved a difficult endeavour, and he chose instead to make her a selection of Susumelle. (Perhaps against his better judgement; but they are edible and taste just fine, even if they aren't the best looking of biscuits.) He carefully arranges them in a small yellow box and leaves it in the spot he's seen her occupy the most, her name clearly visible on the attached card. The reverse of the card reads: ]

Sorry, they're a little late for the season.
– Abbacchio

<songbird>

[hopesong]

Hey there.

You were the first person I could think of asking. Any tips to walk on the weird animal legs? One of the people I know here was incredibly unhelpful and suggested walking in high heels as well, just in case I wanted to be more likely to break my neck.

<Zigazigah>

[figlia_morbida]

[Ms. Denson!??!]

Who in God's name would suggest high heels when you have animal feet and mean it genuinely? They were either stupid or believed themselves to be some sort of comedian.

[So, unhelpful. As already established.]

Still, I'm surprised you'd ask me. The last time we met, you were still human.

What kind of monster did you turn out to be?

action!! whenever u would like

[unfastens]

[ Bruno is tired.

Bruno has been tired since he showed up here, to be fair. His entire life has spiraled wildly out of his control, beyond anything he could have ever feasibly imagined (the days when Stands were the strangest thing to happen to him are a fond, nostalgic memory), and it seems like every week brings more problems without a hint of progress. This month, he imagines, has to be the culmination of it all - Mista, superstitious as ever, would tell him not to think 'it can't get any worse than this,' but he can't help himself. Every night, he turns into an animal; he had to fight and kill a copy of himself; while he was busy doing that, Giorno was killed outright; and, on top of that, Trish has slipped into this interminable sleep.

There's nothing he can do for Giorno beyond waiting. So that's what he's doing. In a way, it's a blessing that Trish has fallen ill; at least this way, he has something else to focus on besides the feeling that he's failed. On the other hand, sitting here, looking at her unconscious face, is doing little else besides making that feeling worse. He's taken to checking on her every day. They've never spoken about it, but he and Fugo bring her food and water, hoping desperately that they'll come back to some of it being nibbled away, but it's always untouched, and Trish is always still sleeping. There are times when her breaths come so slowly that Bruno thinks she's died - his hands, the way they are now, aren't sensitive enough to feel her pulse, but Fugo says it's still there, just slow. They check for a fever, or for chills, but there's no sign of illness or injury.

She just won't wake up. Bruno had sworn to keep her safe, alive, out of the clutches of her father, but how can he protect her from an enemy he doesn't even understand? There's part of him, too, wondering if he's kidding himself - if he's not as capable of protecting anyone as he thinks he is. If he couldn't save Abbacchio or Narancia or Giorno, couldn't save his father, why should Trish be different?

A weaker man might have broken under the strain. Bucciarati continues to stagger onward defiantly underneath it, alone, the way he always does. But he is tired. He's sitting upright in the chair he's pulled up to her bedside, waiting for a miracle to happen; ironically, he begins to nod off, instead, a thick tome on sleeping illnesses in his lap, space saved by his claw. ]

[wibbly wobbly hands] the very beginning of february??? idk

[figlia_morbida]

[The last few things Trish recalls float to the surface of her memory like wreckage as she slowly, slowly awakens.

There was Mukuro, and the river, and a night out where her breath was visible in the cold and she was...happy.

There's flashes of Bruno, Giorno, Fugo, Abbacchio, Yuzu. Nai'a Nights.

The thrum of a bass guitar in her hands.

That's right. She knows she went to work for a brief evening, and felt so tired as she played that her fingers stumbled and stumbled. It was the same kind of tired she feels every morning after changing back. Changing itself usually pumps her body full of adrenaline with how drastic it is, usually, but she barely makes the walk home with how heavy her eyes and body feel.

She thinks she might have nudged her muzzle under her blanket before slipping into a deep sleep, half on her bed and half on the floor considering her large frame.

The scene now is pretty similar, although her blanket has been draped over her broad back, and there's a glass of stale water on her bedside table, which she smells rather than sees, wrinkling her speckled nose. Part of her wants to stop thinking and go back to the comfortable quiet of sleep, but her nose catches another familiar scent, one that is far too puzzling to ignore, and her chest swells as she breathes in deep and finally recognizes it.

Her eyes are still too heavy, and she's also puzzled over why in the world she's so goddamn tired, but she finds it in her to croak out a question as she drags her chin on the satin sheets to "face" Bruno, as much as a sleepy bear can.]

Bucciarati...? What time is it?

[And what's he doing in her room, anyway? She'd be offended if she didn't have the impression she slept through him knocking on her door. The boys have always been good about that, so he gets the benefit of the doubt. This time.]

<harmonia> -> action

[digiorno]

[It's the way she's asking questions, he realizes.]

[It's subtle, but it's different. Trish rarely speaks in rhetoricals. But these questions are, and they're leading. That's what's off. And he can't tell if it's because she's uncomfortable or for some other reason, but it's different, and it's strange, and he's uncomfortable. He doesn't want to feel like he can't trust her. He won't let that door open up again.]

[So he gets up, walks to her room, and knocks on hers. When she opens the door, he gives her a crooked smile.]

Hi. Do you mind if I come in? I thought it was a little silly to be messaging from a few rooms away.

[figlia_morbida]

[Trish can't say she isn't startled when Giorno comes knocking. But her expression is impassive when she opens her door, because she's not stupid enough to think he just felt like visiting.

No, something is bothering him.

But there's no reason for him to worry? She furrows a brow in a mix of confusion and something else, her mind sifting through her prior words for what could possibly have prompted this.]

I didn't have much else to add, but sure.

[She lets her door swing wide open as she goes to sit primly on the edge of her bed, flicking her tail out as she settles with a whumpf, arms crossed.]

<Player1>

[knifemonopoly]

[Atem does not care if this month's fog problem is "acid."

He'll just stay inside. He'll worry about it later. That's other people's problem.

Right now, he's looking into self-improvement! That means getting to the bottom of who's selling those bogus monster-defense kits, and also, unwinding. Unwinding's important. And, he knows someone else who's generally pretty high strung, and who might also benefit from some gosh darned downtime...]

Yo, Trish! Have you been to the new Cube yet?

<Zigazigah>

[figlia_morbida]

[Acid, really? Who would have thought acid rain would follow a flower infestation? As if she doesn't stay in the house enough already.

She's idly flipping through the network on her laptop, listening to the distant rain outside, when a pleasant surprise pops up. It's Atem's username, and she blinks, popping over to her channel to see frankly the cutest message she's yet gotten.

There's something simple but powerful about someone being so casual. "Yo", he says. That's followed by the cold dread of hearing about the Cube, but Atem is extremely clever, and while he seems willing to take risks, he surely knows she's not the same.]

I haven't been to any incarnation of the Cube.

I'm actually surprised to hear about it from you. Aren't you wary of going somewhere with Elias's name plastered all over it?

<Harrington> backdated to immediately post-Technical Difficulties

[hairday]

[ Steve really hopes none of that unfiltered nonsense that leaked out of his head left Trish feeling too sour, because he needs her help as soon as possible.

The day after everyone's psychic connection to the network seems to have quieted down, once he's relatively sure nothing they discuss is going to be sent to the general public, he messages Miss Una directly: ]

hey
question

how long does it take you to learn to play new songs?

<Zigazigah>

[figlia_morbida]

[Does she hold any of it against him? Not really. Maybe he would be surprised by that, but it was hardly anything to be angry about weeks after the fact.

Perhaps she's learning.

Anyways, he's messaging her now, and she blinks.

Huh.]

Fairly quickly. A few days if it's easy. Maybe a week to get it perfect if it's not. I'm told my memory is very good.

Why do you ask?

<hopesong> backdated to 4/01

[hopesong]

Still alive, just so you're aware. No dirt naps so far, crossing my fingers.

<Zigazigah> april fools huh

[figlia_morbida]

You do realize you're sending this on the day of April's Fish.

[Italy's version of April Fool's is...something.

Anyways, Trish is just being a shit, but after the March she's had, Kate checking in is...nice, actually. Regardless:]

How do I know you're not messaging me from the Sea of Stars?