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A certain, heavy hush fills the emerald alcove upon entry, and for good reason. Unlike the ivory hall and the other small rooms adjoined to the Court, the space swelters with a certain breed of humidity upon entry. There is a glassy blue glow that runs like a current through it, fairy lights dazzling the air, shifting and floating in lazy patterns around the room. Most noticeable about the emerald alcove is its namesake: a great number of plants that climb walls and bloom from hanging pots. Leaves dip heavily inwards towards narrow pathways. A glass screen divides this hideaway in two, ivy creeping over the ornate gold that embroiders it. A soft, steady drip is the only sound in the room, as though someone has only just watered the plants.

At first, it seems empty. But one will quickly realize there is a person tending to the room, shifting behind the glass screen and toying with the plants. Some might recognize this man as Alexander Thorne, dressed in very little and looking a lot like he wouldn't mind drinking an entire bottle of wine. Sometimes he hums a soft tune to himself, unmasked apart from the hands that often reach and trail against his face as though checking for wounds.

Chel | 25/25 | Approving

Chel had taken to wandering the area, given that her interaction with a few of the dream-people had proven less than interesting. Everyone was speaking in riddles and it was confusing.

Therefore it was refreshing to see a familiar face.

"Thorne holy s**t," she exclaimed, looking at him somewhat wolfishly, "Lookin' good ******** class="quote">

elkbones

Thorne | | 25/25 | | Tending to plants.

Thorne couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been alert. Sleep came in short, shallow spurts, fitful for the lack of distraction it provided. In waking, there was a schedule he could hold. Melany had his entire world mapped out, but even the Spinel Lady couldn't control what happened within dreams. Thorne had decided long ago that it was better not to sleep at all than to cut his fingers on the jagged edges of the dreams (memories?) and nightmares.

The first noise in the room outside of the steady drip of plants sent Thorne staggering back, his eyes snapping to the source, everything in him wired to go off. The woman was strange and familiar, her hair bright, bright, bright. There was a wolfish, hungry expression on her face. He had seen it before. Worn it before.

Belatedly, he realized he'd lifted his hands and lowered them stiffly, his shoulders rolling back, his expression fluttering between wariness and curiosity. And curiosity was nothing to be had beneath Melany's authority, so he killed it as ruthlessly as he had done before. Would do again.

"It is part of the law of her house," Thorne said slowly, his mouth curling back over his teeth. "Exquisite beauty."

And absolute obedience.

A ghost in him cut open his throat, his voice raw when he spoke next. "I never imagined to see someone like you dress up to her standards." The words felt unfit for his mouth, like they were someone else's. His expression emptied, refilled, emptied again.

He cut his gaze to one of the fronds brushing his hip and captured the plant softly between his thumb and forefinger. This one wasn't as sentient as some of the otherbeings that came here. They were hiding behind the glass screen, nibbling, munching, curious and waiting on their patron to come back and give them more.

"Why are you in this Court?" he asked, a question that had echoed through him just minutes before. He looked up as another voice called out his name, this one familiar as well. This one from the blond who had followed him.

It had been foolish to court him, claim him, lead him back here. There was no doubt Melany had seen. But if this was his last night on earth - and even if it wasn't, even if after this he would simply go back to schedule, to Melany's order - he wanted to pull on his chain.

"Come here," he said to the one that had called his name. It was dangerous. Every siren in his head shouted it was dangerous. Just as dangerous as this girl, standing here in front of him, forcing him to remember the taste of something sour and hard, the ghost of a drumbeat ricocheting through his feet.

He gazed between the two, shoulders thrust back, every part of his body on edge.

"Are you here because of the tithe?" He asked, his mouth hardening on the words.

Why else would they be here, after all?

Shun Kuroda 25/25 | Coming in all what

After a bit of wandering, Shun managed to find his way into an alcove of sorts. It was rather humid here, though given its greenhouse-like nature... that was probably it. Tilting his head, he looked on around, hearing some voices nearby.

Slowly, quietly, he came on around to see who it was. Chel, Throne, and Chris were present. His attention narrowed in on the maskless one in particular.

"Thorne. You look..." he paused, looking the man over.

"Like s**t."

Upon hearing Chris explain the situation, he nodded slowly.

Thorne (Unmasked) | | 25/25 | | Freaking the ******** out

Thorne frowned at Chris's response. He opened his mouth to respond, but a sound like shattering pots sent his hands straight to his head, ricocheting back into the glass screen. There was a scuffle, like something dragging across the floor. Thorne drew in a ragged breath and looked down.

Though the rooms occupants were largely non-sentient and particularly immobile, there had been some recent guests in the alcove that Thorne had attracted. One of the plant otherbeings was currently inching across the path that cut between the glass screen to this side of the room. Thorne had thought there had been enough food for them all. Apparently not.

Slowly righting himself, Thorne turned to Chris, eyes warier than before, fractured with that same intense gaze that he'd held on the other in the hall.

"You can't stop the tithe."

There was a harsh bite to his words, but he didn't try to temper the guttural way in which they came out, even though he knew Melany would punish him for such an ugly sound. He reached up, touching the edge of his face, sliding his fingers against the curve of his jaw. Around him stood masked figures, all of them with familiar voices. All of them asking things he couldn't answer.

"You can't do anything," he said, looking up at them, "They will not let you. And I can't - I don't - "

He cut himself off with a noise of aggravation and stepped back.

There was a sharp edge in his tone. A fault line trembling. Worry? Terror? For them? Certainly for them. What did he have to fear but the ghosts sliding their fingers up and down his spine, whispering in his ear about memories he'd pressed and pressed down?

The other man in the room addressed him and Thorne angled his head towards Shun, eyes flaring bright and wild.

"Thank you," he said, his voice edged and hard. "The Madam resorted to alternative methods of teaching since the Tithe was tonight and - " he spread his fingers, staring warily at them all, "we were meant to be present. Presented."

At Chel's questions, he cocked his head and shook it. If he was going to drink anything tonight, it was going to be something that could blank his mind for longer than it took to remember that Melany was probably going to beat him senseless for looking twice at Chris.

What's going on with you, she asked, as if he knew. His mouth curved into a sharp line, and his throat twisted, heart jack-rabbiting in his chest.

"When was the last time you saw me?" He asked instead. "Any of you?"

Shun Kuroda 25/25 | Trying to put pieces together

They can't stop the tithe? Well it certainly seemed that Thorne knew a little more about it than most of them. Something was definitely wrong with the man. The things he said didn't make complete sense, though that last question posed to the rest of them was... interesting.

"The last time I saw you was after that one spar we had... a month or so ago," he replied slowly. He hadn't really made much of it. He wasn't exactly one to keep up with people in general.

"What do you know of her? The 'Madam'? Is she the one to carry out the tithe?"

And what the hell did he mean by presented? One thing at a time.

Thorne | | 25/25 | | Having a panic attack

Thorne looked up at Chris. And let him put pieces together in his head. He watched, and watched, far away. There. Far away. Processing and not processing. Breathing and - not. He was split in two, pulled back and forth by the people around him. Here and not here.

It was getting hard to breathe.

Thorne tilted his head at the words. Why would they bring them there? Who knew. Who knew. The world was no longer mysterious beneath Melany's boot, but who knew. It was futile and it was fruitless and they were already bound to a cycle of life and death. Who knew.

"I can't answer that."

His eyes dipped at the next sentence though. His hand fell to his side and his mouth - his mouth curved. There was a smile burning against his face, and he laughed suddenly, bending over, arms coming up to his chest, clawing at the space where his heart was beating frantically, burning up against his ribcage, choking in his throat. The sound wasn't happy or joyful but frantic and panicky, a wild sort of sound that burst through the room and sent another pot shattering, another plant being skittering through dirt and stone out of sight.

He laughed and laughed until it hurt to breathe, until he was hyperventilating, until his world was curling in on itself and everything spun. He slammed back into the glass screen and threw his body back, neck bared, eyes wild, blank, staring up at the ivy dense darkness, the fairy lights that reflected bright stars in his eyes.

"Does it matter?" he asked without looking back down. His words came out a staccato in between the panicky breathing. He wasn't afraid of death - so why this? Why this? He wasn't afraid of death, he swore it. And pain - what was pain?

"It doesn't matter." His voice rose, faster, faster. "None of it matters. If I die, it doesn't matter." Another laugh, unmade.

He looked down at them all, his breath audible, terrible, stretching, shrinking. His vision felt unbalanced. He tried to focus on something other than the panicked rhythm of his heart.

"You didn't even notice," and there was a shift again, into anger, red and hot, anger at Melany, anger at this world, anger at everything, boiling over until it was desperation. Save me, save me, the ghost inside of him howled, but he was beyond that point. There was no mask to rescue him tonight. And there was nothing that any of them could do.

"When they took us, all of us. None of you even noticed. So what do you think you can do here, now?" His mouth curved, a vicious animal expression. "You've been living with monsters for months now. What the hell do you think you can do?"

Thorne bent his head back, slamming it against the glass with a sickening crack, and closed his eyes.

You're having a panic attack, his twin had said.

Had it been a warning, or a taunt?

Doesn't matter, Thorne thought. Too late.

Shun Kuroda 25/25 | Being all =|

Now Shun was just sort of staring at Thorne as he seemed to be melting down. He took a step back, not really sure what to make of any of this.

"Thorne. Breathe. Deeply," he urged. He was only able to make sense of some of what he was talking about. Apparently there were more than just him who... was taken. Something about monsters they were living with. And he felt that he could very well die, perhaps.

Chris had also stepped in to try and guide the panicking man to stop hyperventilating.

"We can help. But we need to know everything we can in order to do so. No one is going to die if we can help it," he stated softly.