~ Tнє Pαяα∂σχ Hσυѕє ~ now back to regularly scheduled chaos

Zuko glanced around the room, nodding seriously for a moment before glancing at Sal. “I doubt that’s the purpose of this room, but the padding means it could be pretty good for learning hand to hand combat… if you wanted to do that later… I guess.” He felt his cheeks flush red, but he was grateful for the fact that he could turn his face enough that it wouldn’t be noticeable. It wasn’t like a bit of red under his scar was going to draw that much attention.
“But… I want to learn some of your hobbies, too. If the House ever gives us a chance.” He breathed out, lightly kicking at one of the pillows that was resting at his feet.
“What’s a sleepover?” Zuko questioned, gold eyes shooting up to meet blue. He had never heard of it, but it sounded… fun. It also sounded like the House wanted to keep them both here overnight, if that’s what the setup of this room meant.

It was probably a good thing that Zuko couldn’t see Sal’s ears, or else he might have realized that his own blushing probably meant something other than friendship. For now, he was content to live in subconscious denial. He had a friend, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep his friend. Even if that meant dying again (although that wasn’t currently his plan, and this room didn’t seem like the kind of place they would have to fight in. The House hadn’t even provided any weapons). Although unexpected, the creature from the last room had made sense, in a way. If Zuko had been able to successfully train Sal to a level of mastery, it would have been fairly easy for the two of them to pick off the creature together. Either the House didn’t understand that nobody could master the dao swords in an hour, or it had wanted to see Zuko struggle to take down the creature alone.
“So… a good sleepover doesn’t have any sleep at all?” Zuko asked, obviously confused. Thinking about sleepovers and Sal’s world in general felt like a better use of time than dwelling on the room they had just been in.
“I like cats,” he added after a moment, a smile touching his lips. “I always used to want one. I wanted a dragon first, though.”

Zuko was under no illusion that this room would go perfectly. The House may or may not interfere, but it was always a possibility that it would. It would be better to prepare for the worst but get the most out of the room they could despite that. It seemed… fun. It wasn’t often Zuko found something that could be considered fun, but based on the way Sal was describing it… he didn’t know if he would ever get a chance to do something like this again. He had seen Azula when her friends stayed overnight, and though they usually got up to mischief, it seemed fun. He had always secretly wanted to have his own get togethers like that when he had his own friends, but he had never found friends his age. Until now. It seemed the House was allowing him the chance to make up for lost time.
“So… let’s make this a good sleepover. Even if there’s no bed to jump on. And even if I have every chance of winning a pillow fight.” A competitive gleam flared to life in his eyes, half hoping Sal took him up on the challenge. If he didn’t… well, he was certain there would be other fun things to do.
“It’s… it’s not a dragon if it breathes ice,” Zuko commented, arms crossing. “It’s probably like… a mutated sea serpent or something. Dragons are the original firebenders. They taught my ancestors how to bend a long time ago.”

“Wits, huh?” Zuko retorted, pulling a pillow closer to himself as well. “What, Fisher? Are you calling me stupid?” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, making it very clear that he was just joking. He knew what Sal meant, and he had to say he was almost certain the other boy was right. Strategy-wise, Sal seemed to be the cleverer between the two of them. Zuko was strong and he knew how to react on instinct, but Sal had been the one to make the House work for them in that first room they had shared. “I guess we’ll just have to see who’s right,” he added, letting his pillow trail on the floor. He wasn’t going to attack when they were in the middle of another conversation, but at least they had found one activity to do. That took the pressure off trying to find something fun enough that they wouldn’t want to sleep.
Unfortunately, the conversation turned in a direction Zuko hadn’t expected it to go. A complicated emotion flickered across his face, but he nodded half a second later.
“They… used to be,” he admitted, pulling his pillow to his chest. “After the war started, people in the Fire Nation decided that it was the ultimate feat of firebending to take down a dragon. My uncle killed the last one a few years before I was born.”

Zuko wanted to believe that he was getting better at reading Sal, but maybe that was just because Sal was making his feelings clearer tonally than he had been before. Or maybe Zuko actually was learning how to read him. It was hard to tell, but he knew that Sal had just issued a challenge. Or perhaps he was just responding to Zuko’s metaphorical throwing of a gauntlet. They were going to have a pillow fight. Whoever made the first strike would be the loser of their verbal conflict, though… although Zuko had never been particularly good at verbal sparring, he was going to try his best. He may have really, really liked Sal, but that didn’t mean he wanted to lose to him.
“Why don’t you prove it to me then?” Zuko taunted, something mischievous burning in his eyes. It was a nice change, being able to issue a challenge without it being a matter of life or death.
“It’s uh… it’s okay about the dragons, though. We’re keeping the bending alive. And it’s… probably good that there aren’t any left to be hunted down. Or to try to take revenge.”

“You wish,” Zuko returned, brow cocking as he crossed his arms, staring at Sal. He was ready for a fight. He wanted nothing more than to leap forward and slam the pillow into Sal. He wouldn’t do it too hard, but what was the point if he wasn’t putting some amount of effort into it? This wasn’t an Agni Kai. There was no honor on the line, and there was no expectation that it might end in death. But it deserved to be treated with the same dedication and respect, at least in Zuko’s mind. He was going to win this pillow fight. He would prove that he was the better fighter of the two of them, and he would hold it over Sal’s head for however long they were friends. Okay, so… maybe he wouldn’t do that, but he would enjoy the feeling of winning.
“I’m just trying to give you a fighting chance,” he added lightly, his lips twitching briefly into a smirk. “If you attack first, you might actually be able to get a hit in.”

Zuko didn’t know how much longer he could hold out without attacking first. It was fun, verbally sparring with Sal, but he had to admit that he was looking forward to actually fighting him. Or… was a pillow fight really a fight? He didn’t know if he was overthinking this. He didn’t want Sal to end up hurt, but he could be careful enough to prevent that from happening. It didn’t mean he had to actively pull his punches. Or… pillows. He wasn’t going to throw any actual punches.
“Oh, is that what you think?” he asked, voice practically trembling with anticipation. “Well… you can’t say I didn’t warn you, and you can’t say I don’t play fair!” Zuko took just a second to breathe in before he had launched himself at Sal, his pillow curving down in an arc carefully calculated to hit Sal square in the head.

“Hey!” Zuko laughed, stepping back just a bit to try to avoid the strikes at his shoulders, but it didn’t work very well. He may have known how to act in an actual fight, but it was very different when the weapons weren’t actually dangerous. It wasn’t pleasant to be hit with a pillow, but it was a far cry from fire or a sword. It made him a little too secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t be hurt (although he was curious how a pillow fight could be won if it wasn’t by getting your opponent on the ground, unable to fight back). A sly smile appeared at his lips as he stepped forwards again, sweeping his pillow at Sal’s leg in an attempt to sweep him off his feet with the force of it. He didn’t actually know if it would work, but he had to try. It wasn’t so much that he wanted the fight to be over soon as it was that he was curious how Sal would respond, and if a pillow was strong enough to actually knock someone over anyway.

Sal Fisher | Sleepover Room | strider

The idea of winning was a little bit more nebulous in a pillow fight than in most other sorts of fights. Usually, it was pretty clear who won and who lost, but pillow fights probably hadn’t been invented with that in mind.
He was sure they’d figure it out, though. There was no way either of them was walking away until there was a winner.
The strike at his legs was unexpected and he yelped, jumping instinctively over the pillow in a move that looked cool until you remembered jump ropes were a thing. He shifted a little, widening his stance back to the one Zuko had taught him in the last room to make himself a little harder to unbalance as he attacked again, this time aiming to catch Zuko’s head.
“Nice try, but you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that if you wanna beat me.”

The House was similar to the nobility in Kelsier’s world. That was something Nico often forgot, and something he couldn’t afford to forget if he really wanted to understand the other blinker. Kelsier couldn’t help drawing comparisons between the House and the nobility, which meant he was coming at it with a completely different perspective than Nico was. In Kelsier’s mind, both had to be able to be defeated, because if the House wasn’t, then it was possible the Lord Ruler wasn’t either. If the Lord Ruler couldn’t be beaten, then the Skaa would never be free. It was a matter of saving his people, for Kelsier. If Nico had been able to draw such comparisons to the titans, he would have been just as certain that the House could be killed. Somehow, Nico didn’t think it was just that influencing the way Kelsier saw the House. He thought it was just something about the way Kelsier saw the world. Nobody was unbeatable in his eyes. Nobody was unkillable. It was an admirable way to live, but not one that Nico thought himself capable of. There were some people or things in charge that may not have been unbeatable in practice, but who were dangerous enough that it was easier to just… not try to wound them at all.
“Do you still think of the House like a war?” Nico asked after a long moment, not looking away from Kelsier. It wasn’t that it was a bad thing, it was just that Nico was curious. He knew every room was a battle in and of itself, but he didn’t see himself as being at war with the House. He didn’t think that something that acted like an ally about as much as it acted like an enemy was something you could fight in a dedicated manner. There were rooms where he had to fight the House, and there were rooms where the House was on their side. Sure, the former was more common than the latter, but the latter couldn’t be dismissed. It was, after all, how he had met Kelsier. The room had been perfectly formatted to allow them to learn more about each other. Not enough to completely undo the horror of their first impression, but enough to pave the way for where they were now.
“I don’t… think we’re just talking about the House anymore,” Nico whispered after a long moment, rolling over so he could see the sky. It wasn’t as nice and clear as the skies Nico was used to, but he supposed that was to be expected. Kelsier had never seen those skies. He couldn’t recreate it perfectly. “You’re talking about… about the situation I’m in. And the House, of course, but… the fact that I might not come back.”

Kelsier | Power Swap Room | strider

Kelsier had been shaped by his world, in every way. Everyone was, of course, to some extent, but Kelsier had been shattered by his, and so when he’d put himself back together, it had been in the shape of the wound. He had grown around it. He had survived, but not as he’d been before.
He saw how the House and the nobility reflected each other. He couldn’t help but see it, in the power both held like it was their right. Like they deserved to do whatever they pleased with it, and others deserved to be hurt.
He didn’t think that nothing good had come of the House. He just didn’t think it could earn the ability to hurt people. His pain, Nico’s pain, could not be bought. He would not be bribed.
And if he could beat one god, he could continue on against another just as well.
He hesitated, watching Nico, expression serious. Did he? Here they were, this impossible sun on his skin, this impossible green reflected in his eyes. He knew what war tasted like. Could he say the House was a war?
“I do,” he replied, leaning back, letting the soft grass press into the palms of his hands. “A war, because this place could be safe, and it’s not. Because I’ve met more children here than I have adults, and they’re all very capable children, don’t get me wrong. But just because you could take me in a fight doesn’t mean it was right that you had to learn how.”
That hadn’t come from the House. Nico’s world had done that all by itself. But his point remained.
“It’s a haven. I know that. It’s probably a lot more than a lot of people have in their own world. But you can’t claim to be good by protesting that someone else is worse, and the House doesn’t care about the people here. I know I haven’t suffered here as much as other people, but I know enough to know this is a war, whatever the House pretends.”
He also knew he owed it a lot. But he refused to let himself be played. He had become a dad to Nico on his own, just as he would have if they’d been in the same world, without the House.
He fell silent for a long moment, lost in thought. It was only when Nico spoke again that he shifted, listening quietly to the words.
The Mistborn’s eyes flicked up to Nico’s, his expression raw for a moment before he composed it again. That, more than anything, said Nico was right.
He nearly lay back, too. He resisted it for a long moment, heart thumping gently and painfully against his ribs. And then he gave a quiet sigh and let himself lean back into the grass, his hazel eyes taking in the sky stretching above them. Nico may have thought it duller than most skies, but to Kelsier it was a painting, a study in shades of blue.
He would have stolen it, if he could have.
“Survive,” he said, and there was no bravado to it. No drama, no poise, nothing but quiet, determined certainty. “Survive the impossible. You will come back.”

Nico had fought in wars before. He was in the middle of trying to prevent one at the moment. He had never considered the House a war. He had never even gone so far as considering the House an enemy. He hadn’t wanted to believe it was something that wanted to hurt him. It had hurt him, of course, as much as it had hurt anyone else, but… the House had given him more than it had taken away. Nico would be willing to die any number of times as long as it meant he got to keep the friendships he had made within its walls.
“I’ve never… actually noticed that,” Nico admitted, searching Kelsier’s eyes. “I mean… I’ve always been one of the youngest people I’ve met here. I guess it’s easy to forget that just because someone’s older than me doesn’t mean they’re an adult. I… haven’t met anyone in my own world who hasn’t had to learn to fight young. It’s not a luxury we have, as demigods. Especially because I’m practically elderly in comparison to others of my father’s children.” It was a harsh truth, but he said it as though it was nothing. Since he had learned who his father was, he had come to terms with the fact that he likely wouldn’t make it to adulthood. He still wasn’t convinced that he would live that long, but he had every reason to keep trying now. He had people to live for. He had hope for a future.
“The House does hurt us,” Nico whispered, lifting a hand for a butterfly to land on. It was more colorful than most of the ones that had chosen to land on him in the room the House had created. It seemed as though the butterflies in the dream didn’t care that Nico smelled of death. That, or he didn’t stink of death here.
“If it’s a war… do you think it’s trying to defeat us?” Nico asked, unsure exactly what Kelsier meant when he said it was a war. The House did its best to hurt them sometimes, but if it were really trying to defeat them, it wouldn’t be very difficult. They were technically mortal. The House had demonstrated that it could kill them without even lifting a finger. It didn’t have to bring them back time after time. So… was there even a way to win the war? Killing the House would just result in them never seeing each other again, and that wasn’t a price that Nico was willing to pay.
Nico frowned, staring at the sky and the fluttering of wings around him for a long moment as he tried to process both Kelsier’s words and the shift in the conversation. It was a lot easier to think of the House than it was to think of his own world. At least in the House, there was hope. There was always a chance that you could come back, even from the worst of rooms. In Nico’s world, he was practically on a suicide mission. He hadn’t admitted that to anyone but himself, but he knew how bad his condition was. He knew how unlikely it was that he would be able to come back from this.
“I’ll try,” Nico promised, searching Kelsier’s eyes. “That’s all I can say. I’ll try to survive. I’ll do everything I can. And hey… even if I die, I’ll come back and haunt your ass.”

Myrnin | Lodge | @/des and clo

"Good question," Myrnin said to Victoria. "There has been sometimes. This place never really looks the same way twice."
At least he was pretty sure there was usually a place to make drinks.
Whether he would now ...
He tip-toed away. Just inside the hallway that, undoubtedly, mimicked the hallway off the living room, there was indeed one of those little kitchenettes that was really only good for making drinks and maybe washing a mug.
It certainly had a mug. And hot chocolate.
Myrnin poked around a bit before he turned on the hot water of the sink until it filled a mug and a bowl. Then he poured hot chocolate mix into both.
Then, for child-ish spitefulness, he spat in Vincent's mug.
It was ever so slightly noticeable, due to it mostly being blood-consistent.
Then he walked back to where the other two blinkers were, set the bowel down for Victoria and then passed the mug to Vincent, with the air of a cat who had just delivered a dead bird. Pleased with himself and waiting for a reaction.

Sal Fisher | Sleepover Room | strider

“Oh, ffffff - !” Sal scrambled to the side, looking for a new pillow to replace the one he’d just sacrificed. He hadn’t exactly forgotten what Zuko’s weapon - weapons - of choice were, but he hadn’t thought about Zuko using the pillow he’d given up against him. That was, it seemed, a fairly large oversight.
The bright side was, this place was practically made of pillows.
He snatched one up, then another one as an afterthought, making it the biggest one he could find. Then he turned, holding them like a sword and shield, though they were close to the same size.
Then Zuko moved and so did he, darting away as quickly as he could, leaping over pillows as he went.
It was immediately clear that Zuko was going to catch up to him in a matter of seconds and he made a sound that was part swear, part breathless laugh as he ducked to the side, trying to throw him off at the same time he threw his second pillow at him.
“Maybe,” he called back, though he was too out of breath for it to be a shout now. “But you can’t catch anything like that!”