The vision start with Nepenthes clotheslining some guy through a swirling portal into a starry void. Think Toki Ni Ai Wa but make it cosmic horror.
The man, Seneca, sprawls on the void-ground, coughing a bit from the rough treatment. He opens his mouth to complain, but Nepenthes is on him in an instant, full weight crouched on his chest, a knife at his throat.
"Stop doing . . . bad things," they whisper harshly, "from now on only . . . do good things."
There's something wrong with their voice, something unnatural about their diction. A halting delay in the rhythm of it.
"Wha-" Seneca tries to object again.
"Stop. Doing bad . . . things." they grit out again, knife pressing hard enough that a tiny line of red begins to well up, "only . . . do good things."
"Yes!" He yelps. "Yep! I got that! Could- could you be a little more specific, perhaps?"
Nepenthes thinks for a moment. "Things that . . . hurt Rixa are bad."
"Oooohkay," he says, "anything else?"
Nepenthes presses their lips into a tight, displeased line. They thought they knew how to define "good things" and "bad things", but the longer they spend with this party, the more unclear it's gotten.
And Seneca, Seneca sees that confusion for weakness, and smiles condescendingly. "Aaah, so that's how it is."
"No it . . . isn't," they snap back.
"Well," he sighs, "if you can't tell me what you think is good or bad behavior, how can I possibly know that I'm complying?"
Shit. Fuck. Nepenthes can feel their face heat with shame and frustration. And Seneca's smile just gets warmer and sweeter like old fruit in the sun.
"Look, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, why don't you get off me and we can-"
"D-Do you . . . " Nepenthes starts before trailing off.
"Do I . . . ?" Seneca tips his head.
"Do you know . . ." it's hard to get the words out. Their throat wants to close up. They want to run away and leave this man here to rot. Instead they take a steadying breath, "do you know h-how . . . how long a rabbit can live . . . without its skin?"
He blinks, sure he's misheard something. "What?"
"If you are very . . . very careful. When you skin it. How long . . . will it live . . ."
"Gods be merciful." The color drains from Seneca's face in an instant. He looks up at Nepenthes with renewed fear. "No! No I don't know that! Why would I possible know that?"
Nepenthes takes another steadying breath. "Mm . . . I know that."
"Why is it something you know!?"
They lean in close and whisper in his ear, "learn how to . . . do good things, and you won't have . . . to find out."
Seneca has no reply to that. Good!
Nepenthes sit back up, satisfied with his terrified silence. They tap him on the cheek, too firmly for any sort of kind gesture, but not quite hard enough to be called a slap.
"Any . . . more questions?"
"Just one." His jaw clenches, he has to look away.
Nepenthes doesn't reply. Just waits.
"Have you ever thought about joining a cult? I really think you'd have a knack for inquisition."
Their face contorts in disgust. "I would never."
"Are you sure?" Seneca's condescending smile is back, though he isn't bothering with the saccharine faux-pleasantry.
Nepenthes does slap him then, hard enough for his head to smack into the ground, hard enough to daze him. Then they stand to leave.
"W-wait!" He's barely gotten his bearings back enough to speak as Nepenthes reaches the portal. "Wait, hold on! You can't just leave me in here! It's not safe! There's something else in here! Something big! And- and I have information! Important information! Do you even know what those keystones do? You're all being used!"
Nepenthes looks back at him over their shoulder. "Be good," they say, and walk back out through the portal.
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Vision 1 | day 269 | a button. CW discussion of animal torture (didn't actually happen tho)
The man, Seneca, sprawls on the void-ground, coughing a bit from the rough treatment. He opens his mouth to complain, but Nepenthes is on him in an instant, full weight crouched on his chest, a knife at his throat.
"Stop doing . . . bad things," they whisper harshly, "from now on only . . . do good things."
There's something wrong with their voice, something unnatural about their diction. A halting delay in the rhythm of it.
"Wha-" Seneca tries to object again.
"Stop. Doing bad . . . things." they grit out again, knife pressing hard enough that a tiny line of red begins to well up, "only . . . do good things."
"Yes!" He yelps. "Yep! I got that! Could- could you be a little more specific, perhaps?"
Nepenthes thinks for a moment. "Things that . . . hurt Rixa are bad."
"Oooohkay," he says, "anything else?"
Nepenthes presses their lips into a tight, displeased line. They thought they knew how to define "good things" and "bad things", but the longer they spend with this party, the more unclear it's gotten.
And Seneca, Seneca sees that confusion for weakness, and smiles condescendingly. "Aaah, so that's how it is."
"No it . . . isn't," they snap back.
"Well," he sighs, "if you can't tell me what you think is good or bad behavior, how can I possibly know that I'm complying?"
Shit. Fuck. Nepenthes can feel their face heat with shame and frustration. And Seneca's smile just gets warmer and sweeter like old fruit in the sun.
"Look, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, why don't you get off me and we can-"
"D-Do you . . . " Nepenthes starts before trailing off.
"Do I . . . ?" Seneca tips his head.
"Do you know . . ." it's hard to get the words out. Their throat wants to close up. They want to run away and leave this man here to rot. Instead they take a steadying breath, "do you know h-how . . . how long a rabbit can live . . . without its skin?"
He blinks, sure he's misheard something. "What?"
"If you are very . . . very careful. When you skin it. How long . . . will it live . . ."
"Gods be merciful." The color drains from Seneca's face in an instant. He looks up at Nepenthes with renewed fear. "No! No I don't know that! Why would I possible know that?"
Nepenthes takes another steadying breath. "Mm . . . I know that."
"Why is it something you know!?"
They lean in close and whisper in his ear, "learn how to . . . do good things, and you won't have . . . to find out."
Seneca has no reply to that. Good!
Nepenthes sit back up, satisfied with his terrified silence. They tap him on the cheek, too firmly for any sort of kind gesture, but not quite hard enough to be called a slap.
"Any . . . more questions?"
"Just one." His jaw clenches, he has to look away.
Nepenthes doesn't reply. Just waits.
"Have you ever thought about joining a cult? I really think you'd have a knack for inquisition."
Their face contorts in disgust. "I would never."
"Are you sure?" Seneca's condescending smile is back, though he isn't bothering with the saccharine faux-pleasantry.
Nepenthes does slap him then, hard enough for his head to smack into the ground, hard enough to daze him. Then they stand to leave.
"W-wait!" He's barely gotten his bearings back enough to speak as Nepenthes reaches the portal. "Wait, hold on! You can't just leave me in here! It's not safe! There's something else in here! Something big! And- and I have information! Important information! Do you even know what those keystones do? You're all being used!"
Nepenthes looks back at him over their shoulder. "Be good," they say, and walk back out through the portal.