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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Comments

[zauns]

[He catches her in his arms, holding her close, a complicated mix of emotions that he can hardly put a name to. Silco doesn't even know what he's doing here, much less what she is - but even so, seeing her settles a part of him that was restless. Fretful, even. The last time he saw her -

No, better not to think of that. They're both here, now. He hadn't thought to find his daughter in a place like this, but then, where else would she be?

The telepathy is... strange, to say the least, but not so much so that Silco can't figure out the trick of it. And it's much easier to communicate, that way.]

Perhaps I was lost. [A pause. He really doesn't know anything, here. But he can see that she's distraught.] I'm sorry you had to search.

[opheliac]

[ as much as she loves the sea and how relaxed it's making her feel, she wishes she could yank her father back to her apartment—to have them sit or lie together on the sofa with her head resting on his chest, even though she's an adult now.

but she had thought of him (vander, vi, and isha too, of course) a lot as of late, and the recent development about their situations and her choices has left her disoriented. hearing the pounding hum of his heart again feels like a lullaby, and she smiles warmly to herself while her wings coil around him too, embracing yet mending whatever ache, cuts, or bruises he may have. ]

Mmm... It's okay, Mister Silly. We're together now. Just like always.

[zauns]

[It's relaxing, soothing away the small aches he'd hardly noticed, offering a sense of contentment Silco isn't used to. It's magic of some sort, but it isn't just the wings doing it.

His final thoughts were of Jinx. When he woke here, his first thoughts were of her, too - before the oddness of the place, the threats and the memories, stole his attention away. He didn't expect to find her, wondered for a moment if this might be some sort of afterlife (an unpleasant thought). Now he hopes even more that it isn't. Jinx, at least, ought to survive.]

Like we should be. [He holds her close, forgetting, for the moment, about the monster beneath them, and even about the filaments now reaching out again.] I'm afraid I've no idea where we are, though.

[opheliac]

We're bumming off some God's dream.

[ except she isn't one hundred percent sure if the other guardians are gods like Sleep or if they're just her little underlings. jinx didn't care to know the details, chose to stay out of it, and only focused on survival. but now with silco asking questions, embarrassment and guilt are prickling at her shoulder blades.

if they were to wake up from this and he discovers that jinx had been in this universe for approximately six months and failed to gather any information about it when she should have, would he be disappointed in her?

would he be upset that the real reason why she hadn't would be because she gave up on everything, including herself, so if she were to die or be eaten by a monster, she'd welcome it? she tries not to let those thoughts or her feelings dawdle; if her calculations are correct (and sometimes is), their tether have already formed simply because of their relationship. ]

There's some lady who's calling the shots around here, but her goons are the ones who are shoving us in their dreams. I-I think. One of them died recently, so. This could be some other bozo's.

[zauns]

[Silco does want to know the details. He wants to learn the ins and outs of whatever odd situation he's been dropped into. He wants to learn who has the power, and how to take it from them - or at least how to carve out enough power for himself to keep the two of them safe. Everything else, he can work out afterwards.

Jinx's skills at information gathering, however, have always been erratic. Sometimes she'll be uncannily observant, other times she'll take no notice of anything that doesn't catch her interest, too caught up in the remarkable workings of her mind. Silco has certainly spoken to her about it (lectures, really, bordering on scolding), but she is who she is. He expects nothing else.

But he listens to what she does have to say. Even here, floating in this strange place, flashes of moments of happiness difficult to ignore, Silco is already trying to make plans.]

Enough power to force us into their dreams, but they can still die. [It's the last bit that's the most important, to Silco.] And they've done this to you before. Have they hurt you?

[opheliac]

['have they hurt you?' who knew that would be the question that would rip open a wound that's been trying to mend itself? because they haven't physically harmed her, no, but they've broken her mind, her spirit, and her desire to just... push forward. jinx screws her eyes shut tight in a desperate need to stop her tears from swimming past her eyelashes... but they crack through anyway.

and once she feels them path down her cheeks, she can't hold herself back anymore. his daughter starts to wail in anguish into his chest, muted enough that only his ears can hear and not anything or anyone else. and she's glad for that, because she can't share this sort of ache with just anyone—they're reserved. and right now, it's only concealed for him. ]

[zauns]

[It's shock that he feels first, followed immediately by anger. Whatever happened to hurt her enough to cause this - Silco wants to make them pay. He's aware he doesn't have the power for that, at least not yet, but that doesn't change the simple fact that in that moment, all he wants is to tear them down and put his boot on their throat.

All that he can do, though, is wrap his arms around Jinx. There's hardly a soul in Zaun who would ever call Silco kind or nurturing, but whatever scrap of that there might be in him beneath the monster he's turned himself into is reserved for her. He holds her close, as if that might ease even a bit of this pain.

He doesn't tell her not to cry. He doesn't bother to lie and say that it'll be all right. They both know better than that.]

I'm here.

[It's all Silco can offer.]

[opheliac]

[ she shakes her head furiously against his attire, wanting desperately to believe in his words that he is really here with her, but... how can she know for sure? he feels real, but this is all a dream (or so jinx thinks), and she has had so many hallucinations of people she once loved not truly being by her side. ]

You'll just go away again. Like last time. Like all the other times. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. O-Or what you want me to do.

[zauns]

['All the other times'?]

Have I been here before?

[He doesn't remember it. But if these are dreams of some kind, then perhaps those were just figments - visions of him. In which case, how does he know he isn't a figment right now?

But those thoughts are too frivolous for Silco, ever practical, to waste much time on. Even if he is just a dream, there's no point in acting like this isn't real. It feels real. It deserves to be treated like reality. And if he isn't there when Jinx wakes up -

Well. He'll make sure that doesn't happen.]

Never mind. It doesn't matter if I have. If we are separated, I'll find you again. All I want you to do, right now, is remember that.

[opheliac]

[ she says nothing what seems like a long moment as she nestles more into his chest, her fingers gripping tighter onto his clothing. ]

I tried to save everyone, but things didn't go the way I wanted. The god lady told me if I were to kill this bozo and bring him to her, all of these... nightmares would end. And everything would stop hurting. But. No one would give up where he was hiding or tell me anything about him.

Said I was... psychotic to even consider ending his life so we could all be happy... and free from everything. Even when he's responsible for most of the shit that's been going on around this screwed-up place.

Then that god lady tried to pin me as a liar, like she hadn't told me that at all so everyone could... be against me or hate me. I'm just. I'm mad at everyone.

[zauns]

['Mad at everyone' is, in Silco's mind, a perfectly acceptable way to be. He doesn't have enough information to really know if Jinx was making the right choice, or simply letting her emotions guide her - but he does know that he doesn't like the sound of that attempted manipulation.

He brushes a hand over her hair, a gesture of comfort that ought to be foreign to him.]

Just another being that can't be trusted. You're better than her, god or no.

[He wants to remind her that no one can be trusted, not really. That she should know that. But he holds his tongue, for now, choosing his words carefully. He doesn't want to make any promises he can't keep.]

Do you want revenge? A god may be out of our reach, but the ones who hate you won't be.

[opheliac]

I don't know who hates me.

[ which is very true. the people here have been snarky with her whenever they would speak; they've even argued. but whether they hate her? that's hard to distinguish. ]

But there is someone who I want to shove a dynamite down their throat.

[ and it's then that silco will receive something, a shared memory of a conversation of someone she had two months ago:

---

'Don't be a child throwing a tantrum like you're the only one who knows what it's like to hurt. Didn't you once say you were made a queen back home?

I'll rephrase it since you're having such a hard time.

It's not an option because you can't. You aren't capable, you're too weak and powerless, you're on enemy turf, you aren't prepared, you have never dealt with anything like this before to even begin to understand how to accomplish it as you are currently.

You can't make anyone pay. You're not ready. That's not an opinion. It's fact. And if you ignore it, you'll die instead and hurt your important person even more than One ever did.

Getting the picture yet, your majesty?

If you can't run me into the ground, how do you think you can make good on doing anything other than hurting yourself against One?

...Unfortunately, if I get close, you're going to find out real fast that the world doesn't revolve around you here like that, even if it did back home. All you'd get is the miserable knowledge someone you wouldn't mind kicking off is a cockroach.

I'm not here to get you to like me, but I'm also not here to fight with you or belittle you. Everything I said about you applies to us all. We all need to figure out how to change that. Maybe you already get it and just don't want to admit it, but I just want to make you realize that we really aren't in the right positions to be able to just do whatever we want right now, even if things escalate and it's justified.

You're not stupid, just impulsive and with a lot of feelings and a heavy dose of necessary bravado. My hope is if you're given time to deal with those feelings, you can prepare better and struggle less with yourself in the moment and focus on those you want to protect them, instead.' ]

---

[ hot tears boil through her eyelashes again, and her frustration pulses through her veins. because how dare aventurine read her like this? like she's some open book for him to grab off the shelf, scan a few of her pages, then place her back in her spot like it's nothing.

jinx tortured so many creatures after that talk, drenched in their blood that somehow didn't erase the ache she felt. all it did was make her feel even more powerless when the hosts only tottered back to their legs. ]

[zauns]

[It's a bit overwhelming to Silco, all new to this, the strange feeling of living Jinx's memories. It takes him a moment to realize that's what happening, but then he tries to understand, to follow what she's showed him.

Mostly, what he understands is her frustration, her hurt. Silco doesn't know the full context of those words, though from what she's told him he can guess most of it. But even without knowing everything, he can see the effect they had on Jinx, and he doesn't like it.

Fundamentally, it doesn't matter if what he said was correct. Silco is quite aware that Jinx can be impulsive and destructive, that she both delights in it and depends on it when she's in any kind of emotional turmoil. It's caused plenty of problems for his plans, in the past. It also means that she could, does, easily put herself in danger - something Silco likes even less.

So, perhaps it is true. So what? Who has the right to say such things to her, save perhaps Silco himself? Who has the right to upset her this much?]

Dynamite down their throat seems a little messy, but if that's the consequence you would prefer, we can work towards it.

[And why not? He doesn't know this person, has no reason not to support Jinx. She's just as likely to run off and try to do something on her own if he doesn't. He knows they might be parted again - knows this might be no more than a momentary dream - but if it's not, he will find her again. It's clear she shouldn't be alone.]

sorry for the short reply, @ work. )8

[opheliac]

You always know what to say to cheer me up. I've missed you so much...

UGH the evils of work

[zauns]

[He didn't have time to miss her. Not really. But -]

So have I.

[And it's not a lie. Silco knows that there are things they ought to talk about, but right now it doesn't feel especially important. Other things matter more.]

Tell me how I can find you, once this ends. If we are separated.

for real, right???

[opheliac]

[ right as jinx was about to clarify how he could, something coils tight along her waistline, squeezing hard enough that she can feel the air leaving her diaphragm. the filament tears her away from their loving embrace, but she grabs onto her father's hand instantly as her water wings flap in desperation to keep herself from sinking any lower. ]

Tether!! [ she shouts out her thoughts, rattling her brain for the quickest way to help him find her. ] Ask around about tethers...! — Devil's Nest!

[ jinx grunts and grits her teeth as she pulls against its tug, but another cord manifests from the darkness to knot itself to her ankle, assisting the other. ]

[zauns]

[He holds tight to her hand, but the cords - with their enticing, horrifying memories - are too strong. Before he knows it, he's being pulled away too. All Silco can do is impress her words on his memory and hope that nothing in this place will wipe them away. That he'll wake up somewhere remembering all of this.

That he'll wake up at all.]

I'll find you!

[It's all he can give, one last promise, before they're separated. He isn't sure he can keep it.

It doesn't matter. He'll do everything he can.]

🎀 the end 8)

[opheliac]

[ every little bit of her wants to believe he will find her after all of this is over or to hang on to this dream until she grows old and grey. but in her last several dreamscapes, silco had been there too—haunting and looming over her shoulders. it was never an unsettling presence but a comfort, except they all ended the same way... with being tangled in her covers with him nowhere in sight.

so why would this time be any different? sure, his appearance this time matches how everyone else in mahattan has been deformed, but it could be her mind toying with her as it always does, and she should really learn to not get fooled by its antics. with an aching smile, her grip loosens on her father's hand, letting her fingers glide off of his until finally, she feels nothing but the ocean. ]

... I love you.

[ something she never had the opportunity to say when he was alive, and it's something she's been regretting ever since. but at least now he knows as she slowly descends deeper into the ocean and disappears into the darkness. ].