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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[cantilevers]

[There was a low snarling growl at the command; however, there was no point in refusing to expose himself. In his own mind's eye, this was all a dream where it seemed best to navigate with another. His life experience had never been much in isolation except for after his humanity had been suppressed as a byproduct of survival, not that he was aware of that part of his life.

He had been hoping something useful would be between the pews - tool, weapon, guidance in another riddle, anything honestly - yet he had been denied. He was not so desperate as to imagine that breaking apart pews was a smart move; most holy places took offense to that kind of behavior.

So, he rose from where he had been investigating, light from above catching his broad shoulders and for some, alighting him as more the wolf-like beast he had been turned into in the latter portion of his life. He was aware, turning and stepping over the pew to greet the other. Feathers, huh? That outfit style...

Vander forced a smile on his face, lifting a hand in greeting.] Finally, a friendly face. I was starting to think I was about to forced to talk to myself.

[justification]

[The growl gets her attention and her grip tightens on the glass in her hand. She watches as a beast of a man rises, quickly cataloguing his size, the inhuman bulk of his shoulders. The light hits him and for a moment, she thinks: monster. Caitlyn's mind rushes in the anticipation of a fight - but then he greets her, his mouth curling in a smile.

It's... disarming. She feels a sudden sting of guilt for her initial reaction, coupled with a swell of empathy as the light shapes around his figure, reducing him into something more soft, more human. She knows what Ambessa would do in a situation like this. She knows what the enforcers under her command would do: neutralize the threat first and assess if it was actually a threat later. Better to ask forgiveness than to be attacked, after all.

But that's not something she can twist herself to do, not when this man is speaking so warmly to her.

Caitlyn lowers the shard of glass, moving to stand fully. Her hair is waterlogged, dripping to the ground, and on closer inspection, not all of it it hair - there are feathers here too, thin and brittle, the same indigo color.]

Are you alright?

[That was a long fall for the both of them.]

I don't know where we are. Do you?

[cantilevers]

[While he didn't recognize her specifically, the cut of her clothing was very familiar to him. He had been seeing it or iterations of it for as long as he could recall memory. She was young enough that he expected he wouldn't have seen her around much in his neck of the woods, thanks to Grayson keeping most Enforcers out of the underground. That was over now... though there was a stretch of haziness that he wasn't willing to commit time to at the moment.

He noted the glass that she clutching, aware it could be a damaging weapon, but that type of cut both ways. She was small and nimble (comparatively speaking), but it was clear that she was not afraid to defend herself. It was a good thing he opened with a greeting then; he would dislike a first meeting to open with a sewing job.

He pushed a hand through his own damp hair, pushing strands from falling against his broad forehead.] Confused about everything regarding the location and how I ended up here, but otherwise, I'm alive. [Was he though? It seemed strangely wooden of a statement coming from his mouth.

Because he shouldn't be. He remembered falling, pain, a final breath, and screamed hurtful words. Because you're a Jinx!. Then... it was a blur. Don't focus on it. Focus on her.]

I'll just say this place seems better than the shark from the last one. I'm Vander. You are, Miss?

[justification]

[Caitlyn was still fairly certain that this was all a dream - a strange one, a longer one than usual, but a dream all the same. It made immediate questions like why and how a bit irrelevant, but she didn't mind playing along, operating in the world of dream logic as it unfolded for the time being.

After a few moments too long, Caitlyn dropped the glass entirely in a belated show of trust, not bothering to look as it clattered to the floor. Instead, she took a step closer toward the larger man, her expression curious and guarded, though not openly hostile.]

Caitlyn. [There was a slight pause.] Kiramman. I don't know that any of this is real.

[Her gloved hands traced over the edge of the pew as she passed by it on her way over to a more conversational distance.]

But... usually, when I'm having a nightmare, I can close my eyes and focus. I can feel myself in another room - force my eyes to open in reality. [She frowned, shaking her head slightly.] I've tried that here and it doesn't work. So... for the time being, the only way out is through.

[She smiled at him, mirroring his earlier forced expression.]

Together?

[cantilevers]

[Vander momentarily stilled as she offered her name, more specifically her last name which rang like a bell toll of reminder. He regarded her calmly and while he knew the name Kiramman from the Council, undercity rabble like him knew little more than that. However, Grayson had been helpful in painting the picture of the gaping distance between the high houses and undercity.

"That was owned by the Kiramman's. The kind of things they had there makes this place look like a candy store." Benzo had very rarely looked so affronted in his later years, yet the description was fitting wasn't it? The weight of that explosion unending the tenuous life he had built.

The friendliness of his expression did not abate, but there was a stiffness to his spine where he would normally lull his shoulders forward to decrease the space he naturally took up. He watched her a touch more closely, paid mind to the weight of her words perceptively, and he made no move to close the distance between them further.]

This isn't like any dream or nightmare I've ever experienced, yet that seems to be what it is. [What strange bedfellows they made, yet it was oddly fitting, wasn't it?] We might need to sort out the mystery that lead us to this place to navigate forward. Do you suppose that voice from the water is someone we need to find and assist?

[He nodded his head, unwilling to let an opportunity slide right now. If he stopped, if he focused on anything else, he might have to reflect on his own confusion. Better to be driven forward.]

It seems like we are in this together. Shall we scavenge here and then make our way out? I doubt we should linger long in one place.

[justification]

[She didn't miss the tension in the open air of the cathedral, but neither would she directly address it. Caitlyn was used to being treated differently because of her last name, held at arm's length or depersonalized altogether. If anything, the fact that Vander recognized her makes sense. Even if she didn't know where she was, he knew who she was. That was familiar.]

If someone needs help... [she started thoughtfully, trailing off as she considered it.] The voice in the water sounded more like a threat to me. But if there is someone out there who needs help, we'd best get our bearings quickly.

[So, what Vander said: scavenge, find a path forward. Cait was good at compartmentalization, focusing on the task at hand and moving forward. If nothing else, she was efficient in a crisis - which is sort of what this was.]

I'll search those pews, you look around the altar?

[cantilevers]

[There was a mixture of comfort and awkwardness meeting someone from his world, especially someone whom he had never previously met. Also someone who his kids had caused significant property damage to. He did shed light on that, aware that information could turn her against him instantly; he never could tell how the high families would respond, always funneling his conversation through Grayson.]

There was someone else out there, someone trapped. [He knew that sensation well, even if he could appropriately articulate it even to himself.] Though, perhaps we're as trapped as they are and don't even know it. We're agreed then at least.

[Both of them were doers when it came to something like this. Outside of the Last Drop, he often was a man of action for his own people. And now without it? He was forced to be independent of who he had been then.]

How about we keep some of the glass too? We could fashion weapons with it. [It almost always came down to fighting in some way, and both of them seemed reasonable enough to the need for preparedness.

He headed off towards the alter, the light catching them both as they moved, and a reflection of her house overlaid over her when he looked back to check on her progress. He searched around the alter, finding little of value but more glass and water. Well, they might have to be creative.]

Anything of use aside from the pews themselves?

[justification]

Sure.

[She retrieved her makeshift weapon then, and a few more pieces of glass that seemed... holdable, if not comfortably. Cait searched the pews after that, but other than more glass, she found little that was worth taking with them, though she did happen across a sconce near the end of one of the rows with a few damp candles. She didn't have anything to light them with, but figured that they were worth pocketing, just in case.

Meeting back up with Vander, it quickly became clear that he hadn't found much either. She shook her head at the question.]

We could break them for the wood, but... it's probably not worth the effort.

[It probably wasn't worth it. Cait lifted one of the candles to show him wordlessly, before tucking it back away.]

I don't have something to light this with, but maybe we can find matches somewhere. Shall we?

[cantilevers]

[Vander had noted the wall sconces, but the effort to rip them off the wall was equal to breaking a pew down. He was willing to do it if it seemed that they needed it, but it seemed that they were in agreement that glass was their best bet for a quick and dirty weapon. He had hoped for some fabric in this place, but nothing of use. Wax might just become their best friend in that regard.]

Unless we are forced to stay here awhile, I agree with you. That wood is solidly put together, not that I haven't done something like that before.

[He shrugged and walked to the pew, noting the shelf that was meant to hold books. It was flimsy enough to rip off, but again, the value was to be seen.]

We should use the wax on one edge of the glass to try to prevent our hands being cut. It should dull the edge. [He looked around then back at Caitlyn.] What's your occupation topside?

[justification]

[The question caused her to go quiet for a moment, fidgeting with the candles in her hand. There wasn't any reason not to be truthful, but from his word: topside, she got the sense that he wasn't exactly going to be pleased with her answer.

There wasn't any shame in it. A normal citizen in Zaun should feel the same way - they should thank her for what she'd been doing to stop the conflict. They all wanted the same thing, after all: peace, freedom from terrorism and anarchy. So... what she did shouldn't be some kind of shameful secret.

In her heart, she knew that wasn't true. That was why there was hesitation.

Still, she wasn't going to lie.]

I'm the General.

[It was odd though, that he didn't recognize that from her name alone. She'd thought that maybe that was the reason for his pause. The fact that it wasn't makes her a bit more wary.]

What do you do? [And then, a bit of gentle probing, free from judgement -] You're from Zaun?

[cantilevers]

[Vander read the way that she fidgeted, and he could interpret that her occupation might not be one that he would approve of or be on board with. She was clearly in some enforcement, and that was always an occupation that raised the hackles of any Zaunite worth their salt.

Yet, her title caused his thick eyebrows to head up towards his receding hair line. General? That meant that there was reason to form an army and potentially pull in and train general populous. Despite his surprise, Vander had been playing this game for a long time and knew better than to bark at the end of his leash.]

Huh, General. That's an impressive title. Who is Piltover seeking to expel or suppress with that kind of command structure?

[His tone was friendly enough, but a part of him knew. It had been a discussion when he was a revolutionist that they could prompt a large-scale militaristic response if they pushed too far, too fast. It was why he had convinced some of the simmering tempers to cool enough to be reasonable and methodical about what it was that they needed to do. Push too hard and the enforcers would come and people would die more than they already were.]

Me? I'm just a simple barman in the Lanes. [He sounded nonchalant about it.] And yeah, born and raised in those very streets. Your family played an important part in the air we breathe down there.

[justification]

[He didn't know already? Caitlyn wasn't sure what to make of that, but it did mean that she had to be careful. Despite her combat training, Vander was a good deal larger than her, and any aggression between them would likely tip out of her favor, if she didn't have a weapon to defend herself with.

The Lanes... the connection didn't come, but it did strike her as strange. There was something about him that was oddly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

At the comment about the air, her silence drew on, stretching until it was almost uncomfortable. Still, she had to say something, and so Cait lifted her gaze back toward Vander's, her earlier smile now gone from her expression.]

...after several acts of terrorism committed against Piltover, we have mobilized to suppress threats in Zaun. It's not - [She paused there, clearly trying to consider how to best approach the subject.] - I'm not interested in a war. I want to apprehend those responsible, those taking shelter within the Undercity, and prevent further violence between our people.

[With that said, she suppressed the instinct to step back. She was not afraid of him, even if the news she shared was unpleasant. She wouldn't show weakness here.]

Did you - not know? We've declared martial law.

[cantilevers]

[He remained passive and slumped his broad shoulders for the time being, aware that if it came to a physical altercation, he had the upper hand. He might be older, but he had half a foot on her in height and double her weight easily. At this point, he was more intent on information over a fight, trying to assess the situation and how he might fit into it going forward.

Yet, he was patient in the face of her silence, the potency of it providing information that she might not have intended. The Kiramman crest littered certain pipes and relays if one knew where to look; it was in the more hidden parts of the undercity, meant to be an acknowledgement without blatant advertisement. Which meant, the air may have become compromised since he last had walked the streets then.

His expression closed at her straight forward no-nonsense declaration. He shifted his weight so he could lean back against a pew, resting his hands on the back of it as he considered her far more seriously than before.] You'll never take the undercity, nor will you suppress all of the threats. You push desperate people, and you'll leave them no recourse but to be radicalized against you. I assume you and your command structure at least have an envoy from the undercity, willing or no?

[He actually scoffed lightly, tipping his head to stare up at the glass ceiling that was shattered. Light reflected upon him, altering his appearance bit-by-bit to something bigger, more dangerous: a beast.]

The undercity protects its own, always has, always will. We don't give up our own people. [He sighed heavily, missing Grayson unexpectedly.] Your former Sheriff knew that well enough; it's a shame she died as she did.

[He dropped his gaze and stared at her, expression closed and while not unwelcoming, it was cooler and controlled compared to previous. This was a lot to process.]

I'm dead, so no I didn't know. Or as good as dead, I suppose.

[justification]

I don't want to take the undercity.

[The familiar feeling heats in her stomach - the frustrated anger. This was like trying to communicate with Vi, trying to explain to her that she didn't want that kind of violence. Displeased, Caitlyn folded her arms across her chest, her gaze sharpening into something firmer. Despite the pushback and the shift of the light in front of her, she didn't back away.

She was stubborn to a fault.]

People have died. Am I supposed to play the martyr, with my hands up in surrender while our city burns? Treatise with the chembarons for a contract of peace and turn the other cheek when it's broken immediately?

[Caitlyn pressed, her jaw set, defiant.]

You have no effective governing body. How can I take an envoy when you have no system in place to elect one? Vi -

[She stopped herself suddenly, biting back the word as soon as it left her mouth. Caitlyn stewed on it for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek, before shaking her head. Vi wasn't there. She made her stance very clear.]

- I have. Spoken with representatives. We've tried doing things the right way, before it came to this.

[cantilevers]

Ah, my mistake: suppress the undercity.

[He let the change hang in the air between them. He had heard this rhetoric before, had lived and breathed it for years, and it seemed that nothing was going to change. It was a tad interesting to hear it coming from Piltover lips like they weren't the boot on the undercity's throat in the first place.]

Many more people than I'm afraid you're able or willing to acknowledge. [In his time, the undercity was still constituent of Piltover, for all the representation that they managed to garner.] Chem-Barons are a manner to establish control; they have a strangle hold on much of the city, but they are often don't bother to agree with each other as they struggle against each other.

[He stared at her, gray eyes darkened, but she was right about their governance being poor.] You're right, we don't. When was the last time the Council came down to chit-chat with us about our needs any...?

[He stopped short at she namedropped the word 'Vi'. The slump of his shoulders straightened for a few seconds before he corrected it. No, no that had to be a coincident. There were plenty of people in both cities that could be called that.]

Which representatives? Maybe it's someone I used to know.

[justification]

[She didn't miss the way Vander stopped at words. Recognition flashed in his eyes for a moment, and Cait... she didn't know exactly what to do with that. What that might mean.

Then, she finally took a step back, suspicion coloring her features. Vi - there had been bad blood there, with the way she ended things, but that didn't mean that Caitlyn would throw her to the wolves. Plenty of people in Zaun would see Violet's collaboration as some kind of betrayal and go looking for her to make even. Caitlyn wouldn't put her in that position, even if that was the least she could do.]

...it doesn't matter.

[She looked away. Weakness. Ambessa had told her to stare any adversary in the eye, but when she thought about Vi, it was hard to keep a neutral expression, to keep her spine straight. Caitlyn was buckling under the pressure, but she couldn't be weak. She couldn't think about her.]

Let's get out of here. We've wasted enough time.

[With that, she turned on her heel, stepping away toward the Cathedral doors.]

[cantilevers]

[It seemed that they had reached an unlikely impasse in their conversation, and he knew a shut down when he saw one. They could argue, or they could probe each other, or they could fight, or they could choose to let the subject rest. He stared at her, trying to discern what she was hiding from him.

Her suspicion was written all over her face, solidified by the abrupt dismissal of the subject. He thought to argue, but he did find himself distracted by the thought of Vi. He missed her terribly, and now he was forced to consider that she might have died anyway or survived and had to abandon him or all number of possibilities. She knew how to swim. She knew how to run. She knew how to hide. Would she do any of those things if the rest of Silco's goons found her? No, she'd fight.

He remained resting against the pew, watching Caitlyn withdraw, first with eyes and then turning away from him. Bold strategy turning her back on him when she had to know he has a piece of glass on his person and could be strong enough to throw it with strength at her open back.]

I have a daughter named Vi. [He refused to say 'had'.] She's a real scrapper, hard-headed and stubborn like a bolder. I hope she isn't the one that's caused issue for you and yours topside. [Again.] If she is, I'll take responsibility for anything she's done.

[justification]

[Caitlyn fell still when he spoke, the click of her heels stopping abruptly, until the only sounds in that forlorn cathedral were his voice and the steady drip-drip-drip of the water from above. She didn't turn back to him, but it was clear that his words connected with some part of her - her shoulders fell in that moment.

Facing away from him, Caitlyn allowed herself to crumple, her face twisting to a grimace. Private. Hers.

Vi. Of course it was Vi, haunting her again.

But if he was Vi's father, then he was also Jinx's. The thought struck her a moment too late and Caitlyn finally turned, her expression neutral as she watched him. She was halfway toward the door. It would have been nothing for her to leave entirely, to walk away from him and the madness that was his family.]

...you seem like a good man.

[She said it quietly, her tone lacking in the severity she'd had when they were arguing.]

I wish you could have stayed longer. She needed you.

[Caitlyn saw it in Vi's eyes. She'd watched her, reached out for her, but Vi was a wounded animal, wrapped in a cloak of don't fuck with me. Cait didn't see it until too late, until she was hopelessly entangled with her, unable to let go, unable to walk away. Vi needed someone like Vander, something like a father to hold her, to love her. To protect her, in ways that Cait never could.

But then... didn't Jinx? Caitlyn could not allow her compassion - her heart wouldn't permit it. But she had to think that, if Vi had this, her Vi, her beautiful wounded creature, then so did Jinx. If Vi needed him, then so did she. Caitlyn hated her more than anything, but she knew then, how difficult it was to lose your grounding force. Her mother rested as an aching hole in her heart, an absence that felt more like a void.]

They both did.

[cantilevers]

[Her stopping the way that she did confirmed to him that they were likely talking about the same person, and he wondered if all of this General business resulted from the fall out of Grayson's death. Perhaps Vi had taken revenge on Piltover for the deal, or the Lanes had let the fight get to them with his death. Or maybe Silco... It was hard to tell when all of this was happening, and his own perception of time was strange and disjointed.

At her soft comment, he wanted to assure her that he wasn't as good as many made him out to be, but then again, he was fairly standard when it came to a citizen of the undercity. What was criminal in Piltover was just another day in the life in the Lanes. He was not above criminal activity, but he kept his to his own territory and used it to benefit his people where he could.]

Do I? [He decided to lead with that.] We've only just met. I suppose I'm well enough with first impressions.

[He hummed in agreement to her statement. Most of them wanted more time, but that hadn't been in the cards for him. Would it have been better if he had been sent to Stillwater on Grayson's order? Ah well, it wasn't worth considering the past when what had come had come, and the losses had stacked up. Benzo. Mylo. Claggor. Just the start of a bad night.]

She's been through a lot, yeah. She's a fighter though, and I know she'll do alright as long as she doesn't go off half-cocked. [Which she would. Patience had never been Violet's strong suit no matter how many times he had tried to instill that in her.

Maybe he should have taken her ratting more. That was an excellent lesson in patience.]

How did you meet Vi? You give me the impression of someone who maybe entered her orbit and had trouble exiting again. [She looked sad underneath it all. He imagined there were losses that she had suffered much the same as they did underground.] Did you lose someone too?

[justification]

[This wasn't the time to talk about this - she'd already made that clear, but Vander seemed to have no intention of leaving without prying the full story out of her, in that gentle, prodding way of his. She turned then, several pews away from him, taking stock of how he was standing, where he was leaning.

He reminded her very little of her own father. Tobias was a gentle man, but his presence in rooms was often swallowed by her mother's driving force. Vander seemed as if he had both qualities in him: the ability to hold his hands up and coax something out of her, and the ability to challenge her where it counted. She couldn't imagine growing up with a man like this - she'd break a toy want to confess immediately. He had that effect.]

Everyone has lost someone.

[That much, at least, she understood well.

Vi... it hurt to talk about, and he wouldn't understand. More than that, she didn't know if she trusted him enough to say, even now. There was too much of it, tangled up in her heart, her anger.]

...she was a friend, [she finally allowed, folding her arms in front of her. Cait's tone was forcibly detached, impassive.] Once, I thought that if I could help resolve the conflict in Zaun, root out the corruption in Piltover - we could heal the scars left by one another. Move forward together. She... she thought so too.

[Cait shook her head, ignored the tightness in her chest.]

But I was wrong, and it got people killed. People I cared about. I thought she understood, but...

[She saw Vi on her knees every time she closed her eyes. Vi getting between her and Jinx. Vi's hands on hers. Vi laying in her bed, sharing the broken shards of her heart with her.]

...I walked away. That's all there is.

[cantilevers]

You're downplaying your loss with semantics.

[He said it gently but with understanding. It was true that most people that he knew had lost someone or they knew someone who lost someone or something. Life was a cycle of holding close those that were important and hoping it was enough sometimes, but grief was an ugly twisted thing that also happened to be entirely personal.

Vander knew an avoidance when he saw one. He also knew Vi very well, better than most due to their similarities. When Cait said 'friend', he wondered where the line in the sand was for that, especially given the separate worlds that they happened to come from. It wasn't insurmountable, and Cait was already proving that she could verbally headbutt Vi into shape and the other was probably true in return.

He issued a low noise of acknowledgement, still leaning on the pew and making absolutely no effort to move from that position. He didn't think she would walk just yet, but it was clear she did want this topic over. A sore point then.]

Those are lofty goals, reshaping two cities and raising them up to be what many of us hoped they would become. I'm sure you're aware, but healing scars takes generations, but you and her could be a good start. First steps need to be taken sometime.

[There was a lot more nuance to the story than the details he was receiving, and he understood that. Now was not the time for full-on story time, but he recognized that there were events that happened which he was privy to at the moment which would likely change his opinion on the matters they were glancing over.]

You two shared a difference of opinion and people died for it. Likely there wasn't time to discuss it before and probably not after all that much, hmmm? [He finally pushed off the pew to approach where Cait was, leaning down so that they were eye-to-eye.] I'm sorry for your loss. I'm also sorry that you felt that walking away was the best option for you and yours. [He sounded genuinely sincere.]

Vi cares, you know. She has a big heart, and sometimes she tries to fit a lot of people and feelings into it all at once. I'm sure she cares about you, Caitlyn. Sounds like you two might have endeavored on quite the adventure together when I wasn't around.

[justification]

[She watched him move, kept eye contact. Even as he spoke, she stared, emotion rising in her chest, tightening in her throat. She said nothing, confronting it - confronting this. Vi cared about her, promised her, and Caitlyn threw that back in her face because Vi wouldn't let her take the shot.

The child was an easy excuse. Cait wouldn't miss. She knew that - Vi knew that. Didn't she? Or was the risk too great, no matter how infinitely small it was? She could close her eyes and see it with perfect clarity, Jinx's skull in her sights, and the kid struggling with her, moving in and out of the lens of her scope. And Vi -

Vi couldn't let her. It wasn't about Jinx at all - it was about her. She knew that, somewhere. She knew that the consequences for missing would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Not taking the shot at Jinx on the night her mother died was the wrong choice, and Caitlyn had been paying for it every since. Not taking it when there was a kid in the way...

Her gaze was hard as stone and she said nothing for a long few moments as the tension mounted, trembling in her shoulders. She wouldn't break eye contact. She was too strong, too stubborn, and she - she finally took in a breath, one that rattled in her throat and Vi - Vi -

She looked away before she could cry, too vulnerable in that moment to do anything else. Her hands were tight in fists at her side and she shook her head, turning away.]

I can see where she gets it from.

[Like that, it was easier to reign herself in, take in a deep breath and force a small, humorless smile.]

Whatever happened, it's over now. Maybe you'll find her in this place. [The words gave her enough distance to pull herself back together, to push through it all and compartmentalize it away.]

She'd like that, I think.

[cantilevers]

[He could see it, the emotion, the story behind it even if he didn't know what it was in words. Something large and emotional had occurred between the two, and he wondered if it was a betrayal of sorts. It wasn't the right time or place to ask; he didn't know her well enough to feel he had to right to inquire any further than he had.

It made him wonder if she had chosen General over Vi, or if it had come about despite or because of this altercation of sorts. No matter, he had far too much experience to want to destroy the cursory trust that they had build at this point in their first meeting.

He rose to his full height as she looked away, the moment passing where it came to his support. It was still there but not so in-her-face. He thought of touching her shoulder, but again, they didn't know each other well enough where it might be seen as overstepping boundaries.

So he chuffed in amusement.] Oh, you haven't seen anything yet. She's a chip off the old blockhead. [He went for humor to lighten the mood.] We both appreciate a nice set of long slim legs just the same I wager.

[He stepped out of Caitlyn's sphere, heading for the exit of the cathedral. They should probably determine what it was that they needed to do here now that both of them had glass and nothing to throw it at for the moment.]

She'd like to see us both, I'm sure. Who knows; if not, well, it's nice to meet you and I can see us talking again.

[justification]

[He gave her a bit of space to get her bearings and she appreciated that, pulling herself together a bit more fully after she'd been out of his scrutiny for a moment. The comment about legs seemed to be what finally snapped her out of her reverie - Caitlyn looked up at him in a poorly-concealed expression of surprise, her cheeks coloring just a little, but she forced it away a moment later, wrenching her gaze back down to the floor.

Leave it to her to give up the game entirely.]

...of course.

[She wouldn't turn a possible ally away, particularly if that ally was someone as strong-looking as him. Vander's closeness to Vi might have be an issue, but Caitlyn wasn't going to send him away because of it. They had no guarantee she was even here, after all.

Caitlyn moved quickly to catch up to him near the doors, bracing herself for whatever came next.]

Ready to move on?

[cantilevers]

[If there was any doubt that Vi was his daughter, he made a point to dismiss that with his playful comment. It was the truth anyway. Vi had been looking at ladies since she was old enough to understand her preferences, and Vander had no issue enabling that curiosity in a minorly controlled fashion.

Besides, he had been around the block more times than Caitlyn could probably even count, so he saw what was between the two. A fall-out yes, but her brush off and topic sharp side-stepping was plain enough that there were feelings there. Hurt now yes, but he suspected that a potential reunion was for the future.

Until then, he could make an effort to learn what he could about the "General" of Piltover. She may resist and avoid him, but well, he was a big guy and he could get his way when he wanted to. Besides, she was going to need someone to move heavy objects, assuming there were some wherever they happened to be heading from this cathedral.]

It doesn't seem to be worthwhile to stay here when we have limited information as is. We don't know how close we are to nightfall, assuming there is one, and while I can navigate in the dark, this isn't the Sump.

[He approached the door of the cathedral and carefully shouldered it open a crack to peer outside beyond it. Grass, huh? That was novel.]

Apparently we're going outdoors?