JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JAWS

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Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws

The dream has been coming in waves for those new to Sleep's touch, as a shoreline that never stays still. As a sky that never remembers to include its stars. Beneath it all, there is a voice. Her voice: silk-sweet, coaxing from just beyond the approaching wave that towers like a moving mountain. She tells you to come home. She promises it won't hurt, even if she never tells you what waits beneath. You see the shape just before the dream ends: a massive black tidal wave, yawning wide and black until it looks like a pair of jaws breaking upon you. You don't have time to resist.

You and your veteran Vessels will awaken in water.

There is no surface. No bottom. No sky. No sound but your own heartbeat and the echoes of water being slashed though, dull and endless in the still, frigid dark. You are suspended, weightless— Some may have difficulty to breathe without inhaling water the first few times, while those aligned with the waves will feel it come like second nature. Once you acclimate yourself, you'll notice that around you drift glowing filaments; thin, pulsing threads that coil like jellyfish tendrils, softly luminescent. They curl and twist through the water, and when you look closer, you realize: they show you things. Memories, maybe. Dreams, maybe. Each one unique to your gaze: a hand reaching for yours in the dark, a goodbye that never finished, a face you haven't seen in years. They are what you think love looks like. What you once needed it to be. And when you touch them, they wrap around you, gently, warmly . . . Hungrily— and begin to pull you down.

To ascend into the next level, you must let go. But not everything that binds you wants to be released. The filaments drifting through the water show you what you think love looks like— what you've built it into. They are gentle at first, beautiful even, but the longer you cling, the more they pull.

There are ways to escape them: You may bind your filament with another's and together speak aloud a shared truth: what you believe love really is. If your hearts align or at the very least come to an agreement, the threads dissolve into light and lift you upward. If your beliefs clash or contradict, the threads knot tighter, and something . . . May take interest in you.

Beneath you, something moves. Huge, silent and almost regal. It glides through the deep like a phantom, almost too large to be real. You feel its presence before you see its flash of pearl white and glowing red eyes, three on each side of its face: a shark.

The shark is here to choose its next meal. It smells grief, fear and seeks out trauma most of all. It is drawn to the most unspoken parts of you, the very parts you thought were buried, roused from the tightened ropes of what you crave in your heart. And when it chooses you, it does not bite immediately. It invites, with its jaws opening like a sanctuary and slow towards you.

Inside is I, whispers Sleep. Allow Me to have you whole, and you will be at peace. Show Me love.

Fight against her, or even with your current partner about what love is, and Sleep will open her maw, spilling tendrils from her throat and begin to stalk you. Best be prepared to fight the possessed Megalodon— She will laugh, amused as you do, like a great cat playing with its food. And if you were to be caught, well. You'll wake in the dream's next level with an undeniable prey drive, whether Token or Offering.

She will do anything to keep you here.

NOTES:

• There is no surface visible at first. Light only comes from the filaments. As characters resist, act, or ascend, a faint stained-glass shimmer begins to pulse upward, hinting at the dream's next layer.
• Sound is muffled— speech emerges as bubbles, but meaning travels regardless. Words feel heavy here. Some phrases may literally change the water (turn to light, birth dream-objects, or ripple with tension). You will do better using The Murmur as a means of communication. Luckily you have your mask on!
• The Shark always circles once it senses trouble within you. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always felt. If characters listen closely, they can hear the echo of One's voice coming from inside it: pleading with a haunted, at times screaming melody.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• The dream bends subtly around Tokens, especially at the whims of an Aquamancer. Walls of pressure open before them, and filaments shift course as if expecting them. This can make their path easier, unless they start to doubt their purpose.
• Tokens perceive emotional resonance as currents in the water such as subtle flows of energy. These can guide them (or others) toward escape paths, or signal when the shark is near.
• When a Token speaks or acts with strong intent, the dream sometimes translates it into a symbolic structure: A word might become a floating glyph. A gesture might alter the filament's shape. A moment of clarity might reveal a hidden path. Other characters can interact with these dream-objects, but they're fragile, unstable, and prone to distortion by doubt.
• The deeper Tokens go, the more they feel themselves pulling apart and begin to experience dual awareness: one part dreaming, one part watching— some may even see flashes of within the shark's belly, and One's voice much louder. The deeper they go, the more detached they become, and the more they lack the ability to act at all.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The shark is more fascinated by Offerings. It circles them often, sensing kinship— or potential. The more monstrous the Offering, the more the shark "pauses' near them, almost curious.
• Offerings feel "the pull" more clearly, particularly Merrows and other aquatic-based Offerings—they can sense where the surface might be, and where the shark intends to strike next. They may even see pulses in the water that others miss, similar to Spider Man's "spidey senses".
• An Offering may experience rapid body changes submerged. Fins may appear, bones may shift, teeth may lengthen without warning and so on. This makes their movement easier or harder, depending on how much of themselves they're holding back or how apt their monstrous forms are at swimming.
• Some Offerings may feel drawn to the shark— not in fear, but in understanding. They may see themselves in it, and vice versa— One's song in particular is hypnotic, and for split moments you may understand his pain through his words. This might make you more prone to being consumed, though, so hopefully your partner can help you out of it—?.

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Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator

The surface you breach is not water— it's glass.

You strike it with the force of falling sky. It fractures beneath you in a bloom of painted light. For one weightless moment, the dream hesitates, sputters. Then the world shatters, and you fall with the cascade.

Water pours through the crack in the ceiling, carrying you down in ribbons of color and a shattering splash. Stained glass shards drift like petals through the now collapsing roof, and you eventually land not in sand, but upon a cathedral floor, slick with tide. Around you, the water spreads, pooling across the stone and swallowing the walls in a rising hush as it finds escape through the doors.

The cathedral is vast, impossibly so. Its architecture towers, crooked and immaculate, built more from longing than stone. No altar awaits you. No congregation. Only the sensation of having trespassed into something meant to be private. Veteran Vessels may recognize this cathedral as St. Patrick's— before it was drenched in One's blood sacrifice.

High above and surrounding you, the stained-glass mosaics churn with captured light. f you linger beneath one of the window's rays, your appearance may begin to change under the light. You appear as someone else sees you. Be it a hero. A monster. A disappointment. A god. A weakness. A temptation. Even a burden. That version of you clings to your dream-body like a second skin; uncomfortable, intimate, and undeniable. For some, it may be beautiful. For others, unbearable.

If you and another stand beneath the same window, you may each appear as the other secretly imagines. There is no control and no negotiation. Only truth twisted through the lens of want, resentment, fear, or love. And it doesn't go away until you leave the light.

Eventually, the cathedral doors open by dream's will. Beyond them lies a cloister garden: narrow paths, pale trees, and wild flowers that bloom in stillness. At the far end, behind the overgrowth and ruined arches, you see a hollow.

It is a corridor where the dream collapses inward, twisting, warped, half-swallowed in fog and dread. Its stones pulse faintly beneath a shallow film of water. Black tendrils reach from its depths like roots, veins, twitching toward sound, warmth, and movement. You see them dragging matter into the earth, and between them lie bones, contorted and fresh, half-consumed.

And farther still, a body that still breathes. Glimpsed only briefly, A masked man's form is stretched by the hollow's gravity, arms pinned behind the veil. He does not move, or speak. Or perhaps, he cannot. The hollow does not let him go and will not, should you make your attempts. If you step foot in the hollows that have consumed him, you too will be consumed. A three eyed Tod sits at the hollow's edge, a single bushy tail splitting into three, as its body plays with illusion like smoke put to dance over fire. It says, as its head floats up and its maw splits into a grin too cheshire to ignore: Wearing shoes, yet no feet in sight. You'll hear steps pound in the death of night. What is it that you need, to cross this narrow blight?

It disappears and only leaves you the riddle to chew on.

Nothing living can cross the hollow, you'll soon find. Nothing except . . . The Nightmares.

Just outside the garden's boundary, you'll find horses built from wind and shadow, flickering at the edge of your vision. Their bodies are black— not the color, but the absence, swallowing all light. Some of their craniums cound be seen, others have a jutting horn of bone from their foreheads. Where eyes should be, there are six: three stacked on each side of the skull, glowing dimly red like distant embers beneath ice. Their manes flow like torn fabric, like drifting vapor that trails behind them like the smoke from a snuffed candle. Their maws are too damn wide to be herbivorous, yet they seem to enjoy the act of grazing. They wait, unchained and wild in a herd.

This is the only way forward. Only they can pass through the hollow untouched. But how to ride one—? You may chase them. You may plead, command, kneel. You may offer them all your need and all your love, promises that you will provide if they become your steed. But they were not made to answer it. For every Vessel, there is one single Nightmare that will choose them, and thus you will choose each other. They have their own personalities, some more aggressive or shyer than others. The harder you reach, the faster they vanish or harshed they will attack if unready. Try to mount one through force, and you'll regret ever trying. Try to bind one, and it will break you.

But if you are patient, if you figure out its nature and how to please it— your Nightmare may come closer. One may circle you. It may bow its head. Their snort is warm and real against your palm. If successful, it will lower itself to its knees. If you've got the height, they will simply wait, patiently, for you to get on their backs (Or not; there are plenty of sassy mares out there).

If you accept, you might not be taken somewhere safe, but you will be taken somewhere true, away from here. And if you force your want upon them, if you cannot let go— you will be left with something else.

In the distance, across the flooded cathedral floor, you may see One again. Flashes, glimpses. Always chasing a mare he never reaches, or the opposite— the mare chases after him.

NOTES:

• If a character successfully forms a bond with their Nightmare, it will return with them in the form of a waking world steed, officially introduced in the next event. You're free to give it the personality you wish.
• If a character attempts to force a connection with a Nightmare at any point (tries to catch, mount, command, etc.), the mare will bite or kick, which Vessels will suffer as a persistent dream-mark that will carry into the waking world.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Light clings unnaturally to Tokens in the cathedral, especially near the stained glass. It bends around their bodies like a false halo, casting them in divine or monstrous outlines depending on who watches.
• If a Token casts or channels any magic within the cathedral or near a Nightmare, the spell does not manifest, but instead, a cold mist escapes their mouth, and the Nightmare turns to look. The dream rejects force.
• When a Nightmare looks directly at a Token, their eyes eclipse, pupils vanishing into rings of shadow. In that moment, a fragmented vision floods the Token's mind . . . not from the Nightmare, but from another character nearby. It shows the Token how that character once dreamed of them, what they feared, needed, or hoped they would become.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The stained glass causes a subtle change in scent and physical appearance turning into a more grotesque version of this— Offerings begin to smell or look like what others most want from them.
• Offerings may always know where the Nightmares are, even when hidden. But the more they try to act on this knowledge, the harder the Nightmares are to reach.
• An Offering's body will react before they realize it, flinching from lies, bristling in moments of emotional pressure, pulling away from contact, and so on. They may startle even at gentle contact, as if something inside them is as reactive as they are.

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Where The Delicate Stops

As your Nightmare takes you through the misty hollow, you may begin to notice the empty city of Manhattan as veterans remember. There is no warning but the eerie silence that surrounds you like impossible weights. The cathedral once behind you folds inward— wrong, deep and full of pressure. It bursts through the hollow's path, through the city's street, and then— The dream ruptures.

Stone peels backward like paper. Glass liquefies mid-air. The sky above the city pulls itself inside out. Time bends sideways. And from the edges of the dream, something, someone, begins to hunt. Sleep's presence moves like the very shark she chose as a vision of her physical manifestation. She does not speak or rage. But you feel Her, rising like fever beneath the skin of Her world as the hairs at the back of your neck do. She does not want you this deep, and neither does One.

Somewhere within the collapse, you may see them— entwined, shifting, trembling. One's face is turned toward you, screaming something that doesn't reach your ears. Sleep's hands are tangled in his body. She pulls him back with a gentleness that breaks the sky, and he screams, reaching for you with his last breath before consumption. The dream convulses.

The Nightmares bolt with you still on them.

The city rises to meet you from the shadows, but it's not the city you know. Skyscrapers twist at unnatural angles. Streets flood, then dry, then flood again. Tendrils burst from subway grates and gutters, slashing upward like tongues. Streetlights spin like compass needles. Cars levitate, crash, freeze midair. You move through it all at breakneck speed, but the exit keeps shifting— a hole in the world that flickers just beyond reach where you see your body, fast asleep.

Somewhere in the chaos, a few Nightmares are caught. Sleep strikes like lightning— she coils like a viper and tightens like a vice. One touch from Her, and your Nightmare collapses mid-gallop, its body unraveling into smoke and light. No sound. No scream. Just absence. And you fall right off it like a ragdoll.

Others fall beneath impact, too— a wrong turn, a shattered wall, a burst of heat from One's grief. A broken leg. A crash. A wound too deep to ride through. If your steed is lost, you fall. And if no one reaches for you, you stay fallen. Others are near, and their Nightmares still run. All of you have a terrible dread in your bones— if you are caught or left behind, the consequences will be dire. You might not even wake up. So, call out. Cling. Climb. Share. Two Vessels on one mount. Anything to survive and flee as the dreamscape tightens its wrathful grip around you.

Sleep calls inside your spine. You can't make out what She says. One answers, the same blur of garbled words in your marrow. And then, just before the dream can take you, just before you reach an exit— you rise.

Your body lifts from the Nightmare as it paddles the air with desperation, it too rising. You're pulled upward, weightless, as if a thread inside your heart has been yanked by a furious god. You float, twist in the air. Your vision glows white.

We've got you.

And then you wake up— mid-air in the waking world.

Your body slams into your bed, floor, street, soil, wherever it was that you had slept. Reality greets you with terrible impact.

NOTES

• If a character does not find a mount in time, they may be caught in the dream collapse. They still wake— but they wake broken. These characters may wake up bruised, disoriented, or emotionally fragmented, and this can be explored in the next waking world event.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Any Tether they feel becomes unstable—splintered. For brief moments, they feel it breaking and re-forming again and again, with slight differences each time.
• The more emotionally charged they are, the more the dream pulls toward them; tendrils snap faster, debris veers unnaturally close.
• Their body flickers with signs of their own magic—sigils, symbols, runes— burning just beneath the surface of their skin like constellations. These glow brighter as the dream collapses, as if trying to tear free.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Where Offerings are grazed or injured, they bleed light, not red. It floats up like mist.
• They hear One's heartbeat, not theirs, and it speeds in panic. It affects their own pulse, the mare under them . . .
• The Nightmare no longer follows the Offering's will—it will respond to their fear instead.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's third TDM, which doubles as the month's gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible when they wake up.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options, Token or Offering to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.
➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!
➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!
➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Ain (Bluhen Route) | Elsword | Current Player | Daemon

[eidxiety]

i. Show Me Those Pretty White Jaws
a) love is friendship & companionship

[The tendrils drag Ain under, pulling, holding. He does not thrash, nor does he fight the water in his lungs. In this moment he figures: the easiest way to escape would be to slowly extract the tendrils from his limbs so that they don't cling tighter, then swim off as fast as he can. They strike him as slow-moving, and this scene he's found himself in merely an accident — he hadn't meant to swim into them, pretty as they are. Fingertips brush filaments, claws hooking underneath the ones gathered over his left wrist, and they squeeze tighter. Ain freezes, not out of surprise, but because of the visions that flash behind his eyes.

Fifteen people. Tall, short, somewhere in between - all armed, all walking ahead of him, engaging in a conversation that can't quite be heard. The sun sinks below the horizon ahead, and multiple of the group turn toward Ain and wave, ushering him forward to join them.

Oh, how he loves them. How warm the memory is.

He shakes it off, unappreciative of having core moments dragged to the surface like that. There are others that the mystery-tendrils want to show him, too — warm gazes and outstretched hands and people he met years ago that he thinks of sometimes. Instead, he looks to you through the gloom, reaching out carefully through the Murmur.]

Are you seeing things too?

b) love is possessive & protective

[Ain thrashes against the restraining filaments, and they squeeze tighter and tighter, suffocatingly so, around his neck and torso and limbs. They draw him down, down, deeper — he reaches out to you in a flash of panic, visions flickering behind his eyes.

Love is when he sinks his claws in. Love is violent, love is protective, love means blood on his hands — from repairing wounds, from killing those who tried to take people from him. It feels like a raging inferno, a deep-seated anger, clinging, sticky. His love is sick, messy, wrong; in the same way a stubborn vine clings to a trellis, Ain wraps his blood-soaked arms around his chosen people, his head against their shoulders, and hums.

There is not a single atrocity he wouldn't commit for them. This, too, is love.

Desperately, he reaches toward you to sink his claws into your arm, seeking leverage. Help.]

ii. Watching Me With Eyes Of A Predator
a) light

[And Ain crashes through the glass and lands with a dull, bone-cracking thud on the cathedral floor, just as unceremonious as those who came before him and will surely come after. With the wind briefly knocked from his lungs, he hacks water onto the floor, rolling onto his stomach and up onto his elbows from there as he picks himself up.

Lovely day he's having.

Cold and waterlogged, Ain opts to ditch his jacket for now — taking it off and trying to squeeze it out before he ties it around his waist to air-dry — and stand under the warm light in some attempt to speed up the process. So far unaware of the effects of the light, when he spots you, he waves you underneath it with him. There's plenty to share, and even despite the rushing water, it is pleasantly warm to stand under.

The question is: What do you see when you look at him? Someone? Something? Or does he have yet to morph into anything recognizable?

What will he see when he looks at you?]

b) horsey!

You have to approach horsies slowly, [Ain whispers to you,] they startle easily, and they kick, and if you get kicked hard enough they could definitely kill you.

[He likes to think he knows a lot about horses. Normal horses, mind, not Nightmares and not horses-that-kinda-don't-look-like-horses. He crouches low, trying to get closer to the herd, encouraging you to do the same.]

If you hold out a treat for them, like some grass, they might come closer and trust you. You just have to be super patient.

iii. wildcard

[hello!! you know the drill. feel free to add/contact me on plurk wolfchan !!!]

2a

[trashblaze]

[ Just a little different here. Rather than crash straight to the floor, Ain is caught by someone's arms. Because the moment Caelus hears the glass shatter, he turns his head and responds immediately when he realizes what happened. So he extends his arms forward after running like the wind, managing to catch the person right in time.

The light's range is quite significant in this place, so Caelus and Ain are already within it. This changes their appearance just as significantly, seeing what they either pretty much expect or perhaps wish to see… In Caelus's memories, he still remembers how Ain showed such a strong affinity for white feathers. So the trailblazer considered that maybe before Sleep altered the man, his original form might've had the white feathers he adores so much.

That's why Caelus's expectations are like that, transforming Ain into an angel with a large pair of pure white wings. The two are still in the same moment, with Caelus just catching Ain. ]

Whoa there, I got you!

[eidxiety]

[Whump! goes the sound of Ain falling into a man's arms, heavy and waterlogged, and for a brief and disorienting minute he looks around and tries to collect himself. Water gets blinked from his eyes, Ain grumbling under his breath as he rubs at them. The voice is familiar to him, easily recognized as Caelus, and Ain is about to blurt out something of a thank you before he blinks up at the other man framed in the warm light and stops dead.

This is not Caelus. Ain isn't sure if he misheard the voice or not, the different cadences, because there's water in his ears or what — but it takes him a good fifteen seconds of sputtering before he suddenly reaches up to wrap "Elsword" in an embrace.]

There you are. [He sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief.] I missed you~.

[trashblaze]

[ The first words were definitely said in Caelus's real voice, before the light entirely transformed him… But now, with his new form, his voice has changed as well. ]

A— Ah!?

[ If Ain's immediate affectionate behavior isn't enough to surprise Caelus, then hearing his own transformed voice would have done it. Either way, he lets out that startled noise, feeling his cheeks warm up at the unexpected embrace. Actually, he doesn't mind embraces from friends; it's just that it was quite sudden, and it catches him entirely off guard.

And, wait, Ain very recently talked to him. "I missed you," seems out of left field, at least to Caelus. But, oh, well. It's harmless and flattering, so he doesn't think too deeply about it. Ahem! ]

Are you all right, Ain? That was quite a drop.

[eidxiety]

[This sure is going to cause a whole lot of stupid misunderstandings later. Ain is pretty convinced, after all! And Caelus now must endure the brunt of Ain's, uh, projecting. None the wiser to the effects of the light, his Daemon's tail begins to wag — and as far as Caelus may be concerned, this could be any other feathery appendage. It could be a tail with feathers at the end, it could very well be normal plumage wiggling like a duck's.]

Mmhm~ I'm fine. Just a bit waterlogged.

[He'll at least let go now, staring up at Caelus like the man hung the stars in the sky.]

[trashblaze]

[ It's indeed duck-like… But seeing that Ain is fine, once he lets go, Caelus finally sets him down and then straightens up. The trailblazer feels himself double-take at this point. First, the difference in his voice, and now his height!?

Now, Ain has always been significantly tall, but Caelus wasn't that far behind him. He specifically remembers being around Ain's eye level originally. Suddenly… he's even smaller…? Elsword's height isn't that far from Caelus's, but it makes a bigger difference when compared to Ain. He's now at the taller man's shoulder level! He shrunk!! ]

Wha—

[ No, no. Wait. It's possible that Ain is just wearing heels or something. He looks down to check!? And that's when he notices the change in his clothes. … What's this? Red and silver armor? Maybe this armor is why Ain is looking at him like that. ]

Where's… Where did my stuff go?

[ It sounds like he's talking about the party's inventory items, but he's actually referring to his own set of clothes. Then again, this is a dream. Maybe Sleep decided it's funny to put him in these armor pieces. Maybe it's also her fault that his voice changed. ]

IB

[lupusxylem]

[It's ironic. When Wolfwood was drowning in the thick sludge, the tar-like water, it was Ain who reached in to pull him out, even as his claws tore at his arms. Yet here, he appears different, back to his normal self. Unchanged, because it's what he wants to be. It's the only place he can be this way, at least as far as he knows now.

He can feel Ain's desperation through their Tether, and it smothers him. Even if he wasn't already being dragged down himself, the filaments trying to do the same...except, he seems to be fighting a less losing battle.

His head snaps down, and he and Ain's wide, terrified eyes meet.

What is Love?

Love is sacrifice. It's caring so much about another that you're willing to give everything up for them and their happiness, even if it's at your own detriment. Love is unconditional, unwavering, and only those who have earned it, deserve it.

Love is protective. Love...means there is not a single atrocity...

Wolfwood surges down, against the thrum of panic that screams in his head to save himself, and allows Ain to grab and cling to him, trying to pull him up.]

[eidxiety]

[Two panicked bitches in the jellyfish (?) death trap, what will they do?

They cling to one another, nerves fraying, Ain feeding off of Wolfwood's anxiety just as much as Wolfwood probably is feeding off of Ain's. Speaking aloud is impossible given the water, so he reaches out into the Murmur instead, a rushed shove into Wolfwood's brain as opposed to the gentle pulls, like grabbing a sleeve and tugging, that Ain usually tries.]

Are they showing you things, too? The tentacles?

[If he links their thoughts just enough, he can show Wolfwood exactly what he sees — that deeply possessive urge, the need to kill to keep what he has. Atrocities. Love means there are so many atrocities.]

[lupusxylem]

[It feels like they're just going to keep sinking, but somehow, they're managing to stay somewhat afloat at the same time. Maybe it's the filaments keeping them aloft, or maybe that's just wishful thinking. The Tether, for better or worse, is feeding them both what the other is feeling, and though Wolfwood still hates the Murmur as a concept...it's a bit unavoidable here. They can't really communicate via anything else BUT their feelings otherwise, and.

Ew.

Regardless, his "voice" sounds strained. Can't imagine why.]

Yeah...yeah.

[He's seeing it, alright. Ain's version of love...it's not what Wolfwood ever would have imagined. Yet, it somehow feels...

...familiar?]

Can't stop thinkin' about it.

the way i thought i tagged this back yesterday and looked in my inbox and. nope. i did not-

[eidxiety]

[That dislike of the Murmur hits Ain, making him want to recoil from it and disconnect — but stubbornly, he sinks his nails into Wolfwood further, the tendrils giving somewhat to let Ain collide into the Valkerie. After all they've gone through together... okay, mostly the sex but still — he does trust Wolfwood enough to believe that Wolfwood will somehow manage to swim them out of here. That trust is fed into their Tether too, even though the tendrils shortly try to drag Ain back.]

We've gotta swim out of here.

[Ain, who is clinging onto Wolfwood in a way that is not conducive to swimming, says this with his full chest. Realistically, he's scared that if he lets go, he'll be fully dragged back down. Whatever he showed Wolfwood seems to have slackened their grip on him, though, so he wonders...

He reaches out, trying to put his feelers into Wolfwood's brain next.]

[lupusxylem]

[As close as they are now, dislike of the Murmur or not, there's no disconnecting. They're in this for the long haul, and they need each other if they're actually going to make it out of this in one piece. After all, Wolfwood feels sure that if he and Ain were to let go of each other right now, it wouldn't matter. They'd just both end up drowning that way.

We've gotta swim is a statement that sets Wolfwood's nerves alight, a man who doesn't know HOW to swim that he is. But what choice do either of them have?

Better start fucking learning, and fast.

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, but before he has the chance to actually try to move his limbs, he feels Ain encroaching upon his senses, coming in past not just the Murmur, but their Tether as well.

Love is...

Ain will get brief flashes. People. Children. An orphanage down on its luck. Little money, little resources. But they're...happy. Everyone seems happy, despite their ratty clothes and the harsh sun that whites out the surroundings. It's dusty and dry, but home.

It's the only place Wolfwood has ever felt love. What he thinks might be love, or the closest thing to it.]

ii. a.

[untilldeath]

[If he is honest, Till really dislikes religious places like this. No matter what he's been told so far, religion back home was merely used to further brainwash humankind. As far as he knows, there has never been a god that cared about him. The only beings that ever seemed to exist for the gods were the Segyein.

The light through the stained glass is warm, though, and he is cold. He doesn't realize his appearance is now almost too bright to behold, a halo of light surrounding him—like a glowing god with the most beautiful, electric eyes. That is how someone sees him. So, that is how he now appears.

What does he see when he looks at Ain...? Regardless-]

...? Did you need something?

[Hands falling to his pockets, he slowly makes his way across the cathedral toward Ain's own light bubble.]

What's up?

[eidxiety]

[Ain finds this appearance interesting — Till's voice is very clear in the illusion, yet he looks quite different than all the other times they've spoken. The person who sees Till like this must be very reverent... and perhaps Ain's own perceptions of the young man may colour some of it too, quite literally: splotches of paint over his hands, as Ain assumes any artist would have as a permanent fixture.

To his own perceptions, the tip of his tail sways, but enveloped in the light as he is, Till may notice that there is no such tail. In the perceptions of Caelus specifically, Ain is clearly something angelic, white feathers and broad wings, things that Ain would like to have if only Sleep had been kinder in her choosings — so to Till, that is simply how he looks now.]

I was motioning you this way so we could talk, but also because it's warm over here. [Although, it could've been warm where Till was just standing, Ain doesn't know.] Haha, there's not much use yelling across the chapel while we dry off.

...are you doing okay? No water in your lungs?

[untilldeath]

[ . . . Whoa. He looks… shiny? Is that even the right word? Till doesn’t believe in angels, but if anyone were one, he imagines they’d look like this. Mention of the water from just a bit ago makes him grateful—not for the first time—that he’s somehow still alive after all that. He shifts, moving within the other man's own little pocket of light. ]

Ugh… somehow, I’m alright. I don’t know how to swim, so that was kinda terrifying.

[eidxiety]

Really? Haha, well, I won't say it's easy... I'm glad you're okay, Mr. Artist~.

[He wishes it was easier for them to dry off, damp as they are, but... hmm.

Ain starts fanning his Daemon-turned-Angel wings between them, whipping up a light gust.]

Here, let's dry off before we catch colds~.

[untilldeath]

Heh... convenient.

[The wings, he means.]

. . . Can you fly with them?

Show me those pretty white jaws: a

[chosenkingoflucis]

[Before him, the young king sees a blonde woman garbed in white. She reaches out to him, bequething him a violet flower as she sinks deeper into the sea.

It's like deja vu and he hates it.

Glancing away, he spies movement, a humanoid form and a flash of silver and when he looks back to the woman she's gone, leaving him entangled in golden threads. But there's something else there, he's not doomed to sink into the depths if he can just catch hold.

A voice calls out to him, the figure, blurred by the murky deep, reaches for him. Noctis struggles against the filament, desperately striving to reach out in return.]

Yeah, and if you're real, I could use some help!

[eidxiety]

I'm trying my best!

[If Ain could simply break free of his own hold (though the filaments begin to slightly, just barely loosen), he'd return everyone to the surface and they'd all be fine. Alas, it's a struggle just to brush the tips of his fingers against Noctis' own, and after several near-misses and a single touch that winds up with him getting dragged back...

Ain manages to clasp onto the very ends of the other man's fingertips, hoping in the back of his head that the slippery water doesn't impede the progress they've made.]

AT LAST I'M FREE FROM FINALS HELL! TY for your patience!

[chosenkingoflucis]

[After that first brush, the panic that had thus far been absent threatens to rise up as Noctis realizes he's in real danger, the luminescent threads dragging him down. The touch renews his determination and he fights hard against the filament's pull, his perseverance rewarded as the tips of his fingers link with the other man's.]

Don't give up!

[Noctis continues to encourage the other man, gritting his teeth as he growls and flails, kicks and extends, doing whatever he can to defy the golden threads hold. Without even realizing he's doing it, he imagines the figure before him as three familiar faces, reaching for him as they have many times before, a vision different from what the filament is showing him.]

Guys!

[That's all it takes for Noctis to allow the image of Luna to start to dissipate, an ardent yell of declaration exploding out as he grabs firmly onto the other man's hand, his own golden threads joining with Ain's, showing through the murmur, and the young king's subconscious, visions of Noctis and Prompto, Noctis and an un-blinded Ignis, Noctis and Gladio, all in various memories. Back home in Insomnia, while camping or spending the night at inns along their trip to Altissia. During battles where the others protectively shield the young monarch, and where he provides succor in the form of potions crafted by the Royal Magicks and his own hand. Finally those moments most vulnerable, speaking to Ignis about his fears regarding his father's declining health, coming to an understanding with Gladio over the stress of being born into the role of the King's Shield and Noctis' own selfishness as well as his reluctance to take the throne, and Prompto, moments of laughter and seriousness, Prompto disclosing his anxieties over not fitting in, and Noctis comforting him, admitting that he's grateful for the true friendship Prompto gives freely and not just because he's the Crown Prince. Amid each memory, feelings of warmth, even a bit of unspoken attraction that Noctis has yet to fully acknowledge even to himself, woven in.

His mind clears, the silver haired man's hand grasped tightly within his own slips a little as he returns to the reality of the dream world at hand. Shaking his head, Noctis struggles to retain his grip as the tendrils start to gain strength once more.

What does he have to do?]

I HOPE YOU PASS ALL YOUR FINALS FRIEND!!!!! go fight get that bag

[eidxiety]

["Guys" throws Ain off very briefly — he's pretty sure there's only one of him, but the brief moment he spends looking around in the water for others that might be in their same situation only lends him to getting brainsmacked by the murmur. His vision swims, flashes of scenes and faces he doesn't recognize, emotions that aren't his filling every corner of his mind. Yet...

Is that what attraction to a person feels like? That light, fluttery emotion? Oh, Noctis' memories are so warm, like sitting by a campfire... Ain rather likes them. It's cozy within their embrace, and for as daunting as their situation is outside of those memories, part of him does wish to understand more of them. He's curious — but now isn't the time to reach between them to try dredging up more memories, or for asking questions.

Ain's own little family, as Noctis has already seen and will likely continue to get glances of, is in much of the same situation. An adventuring party, but whereas Noctis is set to be king, none of their group is anything but ragtag do-gooders who don't want the world to end. Well, they do have a few queens in the party, but that's not what they're adventuring for. It's funny, in a way; Noctis' unspoken attraction mirrors Ain's own for Several men in his own group, but Ain's is more clueless and innocent. Learning.

Somehow, this similarity seems to be enough for the tendrils to loosen on Ain just slightly, at which point he swims closer and tightens his grip on Noctis with a sense of relief flooding into the murmur. If that much can be done, they may very well be allowed to swim out of here.]

Don't let go of me. Do you know how to swim? 'Cause we've gotta swim the moment these are off of you. [He informs, as if Noctis probably doesn't already know that. Ain is working careful fingers underneath the tendrils on the man, trying to free him in the only way he knows how.]

Thank ye kindly! I did choke on my presentation though... oof.

[chosenkingoflucis]

[Seeing the other man's memories and experiences that so mirror his own seems to bolster something within him. Determination? Will? Maybe it's something as corny as the Power of Love. Who knows, but it surges through him, reviving his strength in the fight against the golden threads. Noctis' grip on his silver-haired companion's hand renews with a vigor as he blinks momentarily in response to the question.]

Would I really be the King of Fishing if I couldn't swim? [He huffs a laugh and flashes a cocky grin.] Let's do this!

[The tendrils start to fall away like strands of hair cut by a pair of sharp shears, Noctis kicking hard to propel himself in what he thinks is the direction of the surface the moment he feels them loosen.]

IIB i'm sorry ain you don't deserve this

[schietto]

[ He is listening... politely... most likely, anyway. For what it's worth, of all the people he's spoken with so far, the ones he's been most normal about in regards this whole ordeal have been with the devil spawn creatures.

His extremely Roman-Catholic slightly lost-in-the-sauce levels of faith following and devotion to the Church due his very religious family very much allow him to comfortably accept that this is Hell. The daemons look to him not much different than the Devil and his underlings he saw often in paintings and murals as a child growing up, and the 'horsies' are definitely some variety of demonic monstrosity. Visually, this all really checks out for him, even the current atmosphere for at least one level of Hell. Better yet, it's oddly more comforting and calming of a conclusion for Dante personally than his earlier one, which was that he must simply be making this all up with his own mind.

On a side note, the ones that look the most demonic in this place also have been the most easy-going and friendly individuals that aren't sending Dante spiraling trying to control his obtained Prey Drive status effect— thanks to Sleep and her shark for that—because they're very good so far at preoccupying his mind with their interactions with these Nightmares. There's a lot of existential thoughts a simple religious person like him is bound to have standing with powerful beings such as demons that are showing him how to be considerate and respectful of their local animal population.

(Mhm, this is a perfectly logical explanation for this whole ordeal Dante's found himself in.) ]

...?

[ Dante blinks once, not removing his gaze from the creatures they're both watching, asking quietly, innocently curious as he's quite caught off guard by one particular detail: ]

... Is this not Hell, the realm of eternal torture for humanity's immortal wicked souls?

[ but these 'horsies' also can kill again with a kick? Seems like a decently nice opportunity, maybe a little too nice of one if you kind of change your mind and actually don't to suffer that punishment you were warned all your life about in regards atrocities you committed while alive?

(A good follower of the Faith most certainly is Not Questioning the demon stranger about his knowledge of hell horses in particular. Lucifer and his minions are far beyond the knowledge and power of Man.

He just... isn't sure how that works for human soul prisoners and all that.

it's a little like a get out of jail free pass card but you didn't do anything to deserve it, isn't it!) ]

...Why do we wish to disturb them with treats of ... more grass [ —that they're already eating here in front of them as they speak— ] again?

yes he does-

[eidxiety]

[What a strange person... some of you are very concerned with Hell! If this were the Ain of several years ago, he would earnestly insist that, if this stranger were so very concerned about winding up in Hell, that he should probably pray to the Goddess and hope he doesn't commit further sins. Alas, the advice given will be slightly less religious and more inclined toward horse care.]

No, this is Manhattan, I think.

[Or some version of it, as Ain understands. He's hardly native himself, so for all he knows, Manhattan could be Hell, but Ain would expect to see more people he knows here if that were the case. Although, it's true that this place seems to be a realm of torture, but Sleep was kind enough to grow food for them last month... so he's less inclined to think "gee, seems like Hell" and more inclined to say "this is just like real life, but a little to the left for me". Logic.

They are simply two dudes with Logic that clearly cannot be beaten.]

Horsies have to learn to trust, [Ain declares with his full chest, knowing absolutely fuckall about most animals except for "if you feed them, they tend to like you".] If they think you control the food supply, they'll see you as a friend. I think this is how dogs were domesticated. This is probably also how you domesticate wild horsies.

[And he hands Dante some grass like :) ]

[schietto]

[ On the contrary, Dante's very fine with being in Hell. Hell is where someone like him belongs, even. This just isn't quite how he was picturing it, but all signs still very logical make more sense to him pointing to it's kind of like a cheap version of the Hell of Doctrine, but still close enough that it's good enough to assume it's the same Hell. sinners are beggars that can't be choosers, and all that, etc. etc.

There is a momentary beat of silence due to newfound puzzlement at the correction of the name said— yeah, no, he is very sure that Manhattan is taken from the language of the natives of America, and there is no relation in official Church Doctrine.

Besides, that cathedral did look like one in America that is in New York City, so it isn't completely a random name out of nowhere. Dante nods once slowly in acknowledgement of the name he's given before his gaze shifts to glance down at the grass being offered to him. He opens his mouth, intending to question the other if he really is thinking of the correct term when he says 'friend' rather than something more around the meaning of 'absolutely the individual to suck up to in order get what they want because they have to,' but thinks better of it. He doesn't want to come off like he's being insulting or rude or unappreciative or anything like that. This isn't Burlone. He knows nothing, he is the outsider: he has no right to be presumptuous.

So instead, he closes his mouth without a word. Actually turning his head this time, he once looks at the grass being offered to him, then lifts his head to look at Ain's face with that smile, and finally now looks to...

... you know, the grass at any single point around them since it's all very abundant with more grass.

Dante shifts his weight as he stands there, bringing one hand to rest at his hip as he closes his eyes thoughtfully.

Once again, spoken evenly without a hint of what Dante may actually think about this or that, he simply asks the followup: ]

...And, is that what they consider "having control" of a particular "supply" in Manhattan?

[ hello, Italian mafia boss just double-checking here and all on that one for the sake of being on the same page nbd all just like 3| ]

[eidxiety]

I don't know, I don't know how the economy works.

[This answer is given very earnestly, with an expression that borders on clueless. Ain does not know anything, but he does know that animals like people who give them food, and he also knows that he likes animals because they're often soft and nice to talk to. Animals do not judge the way that humans do. Animals can also be renamed without complaint, which is something that Ain has struggled to get humans to accept in the past — they don't often like his quirky nicknames. A shame, really. He thinks he's clever.]

I think you should approach the horsies very slowly and offer some grass from your hand and see how they react. If they're scared of you no matter how patiently you move toward them, that means your vibe is bad, and that's a whole other can of crayons.

[That is. Not how the saying goes, but okay, sure bud. You do you.]

You can't fix bad auras. I think. Haha, you'll be fine, I believe in you!