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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shirou, kamui | x/1999 | new player

[perilously]

( pretty white jaws — open open open )

[ a shoreline that isn't a shoreline, a sky that isn't a sky. take a thing any thing and place it on the axis that. isn't. there.

it's not the wave that surprises kamui and it isn't the dark and it's not the filaments of light. it's not even the almost-someone-i-love, almost-someone-i-miss, almost-someone-i-could-not-save, almost. love still; love anyway. but surprise? it's not.

a few bubbles escape and kamui asphyxiates in slow motion, the tide pulled the wrong way with acute calm born from disaster after disaster lain at his feet or fissured from his steps.

surprise then: at?

that which reaches for him after his fingertips glance against them the way they would on a piano or a window blinded with rain. that which murmurs what is painful and fulfilling.

when it tries to pull him down, he struggles; a cat's curiosity, worn as well on his person though he doesn't understand this yet, the shift of his body to something as feline as he was once teased in gentler younger days that barely make the recollection. rather, they seem like dreams too. what he does notice: his head aches, hurts, almost burns, makes him dizzier than the perception of less air. his body hurts, if he pays attention to it too much, all over in fact. though the reasons make themselves more subtle unless one counts the tail and the way kamui's fingertips and now bare feet seem to have nails to prominent to be called anything but claws.

he shivers, splinters: i need to wake up.

as if it's so simple, as if the entity in the depths doesn't circle and wait. in a tangle of light, kamui watches and wonders and reminds himself not to wish. almost hears this thing that isn't a shark but kind of is, this song that is a song he knows but also has never heard, and an echoing sort of scream he surely has heard.

love?

a geode of light shows his mother burning thanklessly, shows kotori in crucifixion, shows fuuma but not the fuuma he knows, shows subaru bleeding and too far to reach, shows...

but does not give. ]

( with the eyes of a predator — closed closed closed )

( i. )

[ a shift of kamui's body shows a black cat, which while confusing is far less distressing than the angle that gives him this: the impression of a body made of white flame, not to be confused with a sacrifice but rather a living being in its truest most unrelenting form. he stands, transfixed. a step more, still in the light, and he's just a child again; a step back and instead of a mass of holy light, there's the absence of it, cindering as if to haunt or decay or both, littered with broken spaces where even the dark does not want to go.

his skin prickles the way it might with an invisible sunburn.

depending on what one sees him as or wants him to be, kamui brings the smell of early summer mornings defined by dewdrop grass and blue sky, or kamui smells like blood the population of a major city brought shattered and to its knees, or kamui smells like what the finder wants him to be. looks come secondary, but there's alignment here too: what do they want of the kamui? a question to be answered by others and as of yet unanswered by the person himself. ]

( ii. )

[ for too long, kamui does nothing. he doesn't remember trying to get to the masked man or indeed if his feet carried him there or was it that he blinked and he was closer drawn into this space of something both unreal and real? but dreams are like that, even if on instinct he knows: this is different too. the stinging sensation from before still besets him, shifting as he tries to help to no avail. part of him knows better and refuses that knowledge. it still hurts; it still burns to admit he doesn't know if he's doing the right thing even if he wants to, even if that will not stop him from making his choices; from having made them.

no voice, no movement, yet kamui can tell this man isn't 'dead' in the way that he knows the word. and he's distracted, entangled with the impossibility of it.

that odd almost sixth sense new to him says there is something or some things nearby, but kamui doesn't move past the garden yet to recognize what it means; nightmares, choices,

forward.

should he pay the tod's riddle more mind?

but he's tired of riddles, of prophecies, of fate even as he can't escape it. ]

I don't want...

[ he says it more to himself than the masked man or the consuming dark or the nightmares who have senses him in return.

i don't want to give up.

i can't.

and so one might find him, paralyzed not for the first time nor the last, by his own dreamless dream. ]

( stops — starts stops starts )

[ a city but not the city kamui knows. though its disrepair and chaos punch the air from him, and for a while he runs only on the good graces of the mare that all but chose him once kamui finally found his way to the place of their stead and talked in soft waiting ripples of 'if you want if you want if you want' with a lowered head.

without knowing why, he knows they work well together when he's barely on their back, but small blessings stay small in the dream.

if it falls apart, it falls apart. the speed or nature of it is not the point, or at least it doesn't seem so despite the impression of: find a way out.

if it were only kamui's fear, perhaps the mare would not be so out of sorts, because kamui is less afraid than he is alert...but it's not.

who?

someone else. fear. overwhelming. heartbeat made into noise and dissonance. blinding.

this happens at the worst possible moment, or perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference? except that his mare falters, and so when sleep strikes, kamui is well within the target territory. his body has been through enough duress in his waking known hours that while impact hurts, it's not untenable. his bad timing continues though, distracted by the deep gash on his side and that same side's arm: bleeding not red but light.

another nightmare nearly tramples him but he gets out of the way just barely, either of his own enhanced reflex or by the helping hand of someone else. ]

[ ooc; if none of these work, throw anything at him and i do mean anything. if you know x, then you know that's just a Tuesday. and if you don't know x, well, i'm telling you: it's just a Tuesday. but for real if you'd rather message first about it that's cool with me too! just dm this acct. \o ]

hi hi~~ this is eyes of the ti- no, predator type wild card

[salaryman]

[ Click, click, click.

His polished heels signal his arrival. He pauses to glance at the reflective glass - his own reflection is one of the hooded figures with angel wings. It seems despite it all that is how he views himself. But how does anyone else? It'll be interesting to see.

He makes a soft noise, at first, when he realizes he isn't alone. The cathedral is massively huge and he's surprised he hasn't gotten lost yet in it (dream or not!). A pause to glance toward the person who is with him. His eyes widen as he recognizes who it is.

... seriously.

Lightly scratching behind one ear, he lets out a soft laugh. It apologetic in how it sounds. He breathes in deep before taking another step forward. ]

How do you do? I don't think we've officially met one another. I'm Kigai Yuuto.

[ He smiles, soft and friendly. The reflection - what Yuuto sees when he looks at him - is not much different than how the teenager looks. If it was his Kamui, the reflection would certainly look much different. But for their Kamui, he supposes he sees him as he is - someone who shouldn't have the world on his shoulders; someone who cruelly had the world ruin everything he wanted to protect; he feels sorry for what fate had decided for him.

His smile softens even more. ]

It's a pleasure to meet you, Kamui. [ A brief pause. ] Ah, is it okay to call you that?

HI LMAO -- it's amazing to see a yuuto player i was like HELLO? O-O

[perilously]

[ as one might expect, kamui hears the approach before the greeting of the voice. as one might expect, kamui is...wary. as one might expect. he feels like he should know him and even more than almost i do but not. in his periphery: a robe and wings. he can take a guess that's less a shot in the dark and more a toss at a dartboard that moves.

still...

kamui --

-- bites the inside of his check, digs his nails into his scarred palms, does not blink and yet he's so very sure: a dream.

but whose?

constellations build and disintegrate between his heartbeats. simple hellos feel like they cannot possibly be so simple but it makes a person a little crazy to admit that they think so.

if nothing else, what kamui needs in a dream is the same thing he needs waking and running out of time --

-- he breathes.

a tilt of the head shows his days. relentless eyes betray the numbered quality of them. and calmly, as if from some polite but greater distance, ]

It's fine. Everyone does.

[ a bit clipped but maybe not aloof enough. tender people can be seen from the inside-out.

and kamui can never seem to find the happy median between brash teen protagonist -- too harsh, too cocky with nothing under it, fragile destruction and... devastated also teen also protagonist with about the same amount of destruction and a whisper that'd die if not for a wish.

so. what has he learned? not enough.

he asks not because he trusts but because he can think of nothing else and, for now, there is no one else present, ]

What is this place?

[ earlier, after the initial splashdown, kamui had found what seemed to be cups of communion, but a swirl of the goblet meant only pink petals. disoriented and finding meaning in nothing and everything, kamui had tested one. was one supposed to eat them? would they change?

so far, the answer is no and that's about the only answer he has. watching kigai yuuto up close and impersonal, kamui gauges the situation as 'a person who knows more'. whether or not he shares...well.

the dream's not falling apart yet. ]

HELLO!! :D!!!

[salaryman]

[ Yuuto smiles.

The smile itself feels like a pause before he says anything. It may be in the way that his gaze softens or the curve of his lips widen; the slight way that he breathes out of his nose.

Yes, he supposes that everyone calls him "Kamui." But is it Kamui or Kamui or "Kamui?"

His head tilts to the side as he chuckles to himself at his own joke.

Kamui - the teenager who has this unfortunate destiny. Kamui - the entity that has been split into two for the sake of the dual destiny. "Kamui" - the figurehead of the Dragons of Heaven, perhaps the version of himself that has yet to awaken?

Ara? Yuuto pauses to glance toward the reflection. He notes how it changes as he muses on these things. Shifting like water as Kamui's shape changes - teenager, hooded figure with no discernable figure save it seems to not be alone, and the one with demon wings. ]

Hah.

[ He turns his gaze back and he smiles again - since he felt the previous smile from before fade. ]

This is a dream... I think.

[ He takes another step forward but keeps his hands behind his back. ]

The dreamer is a goddess known as Sleep. I'm still gaining as much information as I can about her, but she's the one who called you here. And if she can call you, I may have been underestimating just how powerful she is.

[ His head tilts the other way. ] Well, she is a goddess so maybe it's better to say that I just been underselling what that title could mean.

eyes . i / hope this works ✌️️

[dedicate]

[ yeesh, talk about a warm welcome. don't roll out the red carpets or anything, but would a soft, dry place to land really be so much to ask for?

agent choi is still shaking cloudy droplets of seawater off his sleeves as he gathers his bearings inside the cathedral. he'd like to complain more, really, but a cursory assessment of the area shows that he's by no means alone, and even in a situation like this, he has responsibilities to fulfil. that's why his focus will finally settle on the individual he wants most to approach: a civilian, a child, and in being both—a priority rescue target.

he raises a hand in a friendly wave, trying to draw their attention from the glass. ]

Hey kiddo, you okay over there?

[ third on the list, shuffle forward and a little to the left; if it's agent choi's sharp gaze, it see a reflect shorter height, pudgy cheeks, and big wide eyes. perhaps not as young as he himself will occasionally act—early teens, maybe? thirteen or so sounds right, but despite his soggy, sorry state, the agent at least exudes a sense of confidence even as he pauses a short few steps away. wouldn't want to spook the kid away, after all. ]

it's perfect! thank you \o

[perilously]

[ movement grabs kamui's attention like a trick of the light, but this time it's not. this time it's real. maybe. his eyes want to slide back to his own reflection -- disgusted, hopeful, confused, lost, forgetting what 'found' means, and just himself except not. he tentatively raises one of his own scarred hands and it hangs there awkwardly for a second as his periphery catches that person's picture in the glass. kamui, in no place to judge, doesn't. yet it even seems condescending and rude to think 'someone normal' when he knows nothing about them. maybe someone out there once thought that of him too.

when he goes to speak, he coughs briefly, then clears his throat, flushing a bit. ]

I'm fine...

[ a bit damp but they seem to have that in common.

even as he continues speaking, kamui takes a moment to wring out some of the hem of his uniform shirt, a half sigh. ]

...who are you?

[ he'll start there, not that he fully expects anyone to 1. tell him the truth; or 2. necessarily for what he's told to mean anything to him, he has to have something to work with. he thinks about asking something else quickly as well but it turns into a sneeze. at least he thinks to cover his face and look away, even if he's not sure that matters in a 'place' like this. he's been in enough dreams that he can kind of tell.

but part of him almost thinks it would be more comforting to not know, because now he's just wondering: who brought me here?

why?

i need to wake up... ]

🎉️

[dedicate]

[ pretty calm for a kid who's found himself in a supernatural disaster, huh. but then again, dreams do tend to have an effect like that; it's difficult to take a situation seriously, to realize the gravity of it, when it's saturated with such a feeling of unreality. it's just too bad that it'll take more than a pinch for the two of them to wake up from this one.

anyway, his brows scrunch together at the cough, the sneeze—this kid, did he catch a cold already? but it doesn't detract from his confidence either. with a bright grin: ]

Call me Agent Choi. You can just think of me as a local.

[ two months is enough to warrant that, right? it's not like any of the population has been here for much longer. but really, there's probably no benefit to making the kid panic here. rather than spook him with the knowledge of things that might not even come to be, agent choi would prefer to focus on what he can do right now: keeping an eye out for him. ]

I haven't seen your face before, so I thought I'd ask if you could use a tour.

[ in service of that goal, he turns slightly, making a sweeping gesture with one arm to indicate the rest of the cathedral they're in. ]

ii. you mind if i meowwwwww

[roedeer]

[ this form of his is easier to manage only due to not having the same limitations as a human. there are many he can come across and others who pass him by depending on how well he blends into the setting. it's to his advantage to stay out of the way, and would have continued if someone didn't catch his eye.

initially, he would have ignored them. soleum would have turned away and stayed to himself if not for the tug that draws him in. it could be that the cat's preference has taken affect, and is why soleum is unable to turn away no matter how much he attempts to stop himself from dragging his lithe body along the boy's leg.

the cat is known to be friendly towards children.

crimson eyes stare at the setting before it, the amount of carnage staining their surroundings and the individual who is cursed to that unsightly position. the feline isn't sure if the truth before him has stunned them, or if the strange world has done something to his mobility instead. whatever it is, surely he can hear the light purring of the black cat by his legs occasionally rubbing strands of fur against his pants. ]

[This way]

[ a playful, kind voice comes from the cat in an attempt to grab their attention. nothing bodes well for those who detour closer to the trapped masked man, there's nothing that can be done; this is a scripted event that will never change and the child is witness to that.

the cat believes that it isn't time for him to follow in that path, but with the darkness taking over them, at least the other won't be alone. a black tail flicks against the ground curiously as soleum watches the scenery change from one to the other. a frozen dream shifts into a newfound nightmare, they're black as night as they trot by in this world. for soleum, it's easier as an animal to engage in the horrors despite his heart is beating pretty fast, but he can't go anywhere else.

not when this person is frozen in place. ]

[This way]

[ a way of the creature to request to be noticed. ]

i love it thank you for my life

[perilously]

[ kamui blinks. it's like waking from a dream within a dream and for some seconds he has no breath. the environment rushes back at him in unkind concentration and he covers his mouth, having seen just as bad but still never used to it. and some of this may be this kind of dream, this kind of other's tragedy that tangles its thorns out sideways but actually has nothing to do with him, for once. if kamui could conceive of such a thing; he can't, really, but the feeling is there. like a gut reflex. like a sixth sense you'd have to die to dig out.

a cat.

he feels it press against his legs before he can fully comprehend that it's real. then he freezes, not wanting to spook it, not putting two and two together of the feline with the pronounced eyes and the voice that beckons. and at first, he listens, taking a step.

two.

but then he has to look back, has to hesitate. that nothing can be done or changed here, he does not understand. kamui tries many things, to no avail but it's crushing to experience no matter how many times: that which he can have no effect on. whether it is events of the past or indelible fate.

why?

for what purpose?

his chest feels tight. he bleeds himself new cuts in his palms as he turns away at the cat's second insistence, follows where it leads, biting his lip before he says perhaps too quietly against the sounds of his footfalls, ]

Do you know...why it's like that...what happened here?

[ the question of why or why not a cat can talk is superfluous. by comparison, divination of the future and a talking animal should be about equal in potentiality and kamui's met spades of the former. asking why a dream creature does what it does anyway is a waste of time, though kamui almost has this sense he's missing something crucial about the four footed ally. ]

black cat to black cat communication!!

[roedeer]

[This way.]

[ his tail vibrates, paws dig into the mud as his body sinks as they walk together. occasionally, the cat looks behind himself to check on who he's come across, and most times, soleum will sit down so he can catch up. ]

Meeeeooowwwww...

[ a desolate land captured by a dreamer's deterioration, he thinks. soleum hasn't figured out this place completely either. to him, it's a "darkness", a supernatural phenomena that'll take advantage of those who are unable to handle it. since his followers is steadily right behind him, soleum finds that good. it means the world hasn't dug its claws into him yet, and he attempts to keep it that way in this form. it's as soon as soleum can take them out of harm's way which is out of sight of the nightmares... the feline sits down comfortably, the length of its body coming to stretch along the shoes of the individual to trap him in place.

as soleum thinks about this, it's almost embarrassing that the contamination of a cat enjoys these simple luxuries. even if he decides he wants to do something else, there's still that itch of an animal that wants to do whatever it decides.

hopefully after lazing about to make the other not leave, he's ready for what soleum is capable of in this form.

charades.

a paw draws onto the ground, scooping up dirt to make a circle connected by lines, and there's an arrow pointing in the boy's direction by the heel of the cat pushing that way. it's a messy drawing, but he'll be able to make out a stick figure with an arrow pointing towards him as the cat creates slopes — a bumpy circle around the figure with two smaller, normal circles next to each other.

the cat takes a moment to lick at his paw — yuck! — then shakes his body to show disgust towards the act. moving next to the bubble he made around the art, the cat lays right next to it and closes its eyes — a dreamer, to insinuate that the other is in a dream.

upon inspection of the cat, he'll note a blue collar around the neck, and a charm if he's curious to read that has words written on the surface:

Supernatural Disaster Management Bureau
Black Tortoise Team 1
Call ■■-■■■■-■■■■ if lost.

the number oddly smudged out. ]

stops

[trashblaze]

[ That is certainly someone's hand. Caelus reaches out immediately to grasp the young man's own hand and swiftly pulls, like a gust of wind that steers someone in another direction. But in this case, the direction leads to a temporary safe position behind a gigantic tree that's still intact, somewhat managing against the intense gales around them. But as this dream is collapsing entirely, even this shade will be gone soon enough. ]

You're injured!?

[ Shock comes instantly the moment Caelus notices the deep gash. His hand holding the other's own ends up squeezing it protectively, concern forming across his face. But they don't have time to leisurely treat that here. They have to keep running soon.

As in, a few seconds from now. ]

Sorry, bear with me!

[ So with only that as a warning, Caelus leans down to sweep the other man off his feet, arms secured behind the man's upper back and knees a princess carry, then starts running forward with an impressive agility that's definitely not normal human speed. He's not as fast as a Nightmare, but he's fast enough to be able to keep up and avoid the intense dangers whipping all around them. ]

[perilously]

[ the pull comes so strongly and suddenly that kamui nearly over balances, using one hand to brace against the soon-to-be-history tree. he's got a 'thank you' on the tip of his tongue when the other person beats him to it. so it happens that he catches kamui with his mouth already wide open (inadvisable at the best of times but especially right now, which is closer to the worst of times) only to shut it briefly, obviously rethinking what he was going to say. ]

Well I --

[ is about as far as he gets before the stranger has him in his arms and is running.

?!

explanations fade from kamui's intent for a moment, distracted again by the disaster whirling around and past them, under them even. everything is falling apart in a way that kamui is starting to strongly feel this person would have a better chance of outpacing if...

he lays his hand (the not bleeding one) on the person's shoulder, gently patting just enough to hopefully get his attention. to do this, given the princess carry, kamui twists a little in his hold too, which...hurts. but he lowers his head to hide his expression even as he says, ]

I'm...really grateful for you saving me back there, but you can probably run faster without me? I'll be more careful.

[trashblaze]

[ Normally, Caelus would prefer a more relaxed pace if he had a choice. Because it means he can converse all he wants, truly get to know someone with all the time in the world. But as the ground shakes, splits, and more sharp debris comes thrown their way, he clearly has no time to stop. His agile feet parkour their way across the ruins, leaping from every possible platform that he can propel himself on.

A broken piece of a bridge, half of a truck, wreckage from a rooftop… It all blurs as the trailblazer keeps running onward.

All the while, Caelus is still protectively holding this younger man, keeping him close with a fierce grip to prevent any accidents, such as the ruthless winds taking him away. Whenever he ducks his head to dodge anything, he curls up against the younger one, letting his body shield him. Then, it's back to running. In the far distance, he can see where the dream ends. That must be their only escape.

When the younger man tries to get his attention, Caelus takes a moment to glance down at him, golden eyes gleaming behind the raccoon mask he's wearing. And he smiles radiantly, standing out so well against the destruction all around them. A sign of hope and confidence. ]

What? Are you trying to get rid of me already? We haven't even exchanged names yet.

[ He's still able to place humor even in a situation like this. And he holds him a bit closer, indicating he has no intention of parting yet. ]

I'm Caelus, the Galactic Baseballer. Nice to meet you!

pretty white jaws.

[sacral]

[ You can't wake up from this. Not yet.

Not a Dreamseer. Not where he's supposed to be, but where he always is.

An answer in murmur; a cool caress. Heaven finding its familiar harbor down in the deep of this dream. It's not so dissimilar to the bottom of Kamui's soul here — not the Kamui, but Shirou Kamui, a boy who grips the stars with one hand and commands dragons with the other. Sleep's waters are calmer. Warmer. They dream, and that's that.

He's already seen what form Kamui's love takes, rippled, hatched and feather-stretched from the womb of the world. Fire and holy swords, a girl on the cross. What betrayal looks like in a pane of glass, stigmata administered by its pieces. But so does Kamui know his, a rare glimpse of his memories in rupture, bone shards and blossoms in freefall as the second light of the Sumeragi was extinguished by the first light of love in ruin. It's the sole instance in which Subaru feels as though he can bend these filaments to his will, their chords connecting in buoyant tragedy. Shared, as intended, and for once, not intentionally turned away. It is the only way they both reach the surface again.

It's selfishness, surely. That he doesn't expect for Kamui to refuse him here despite his absence. That Subaru refuses to leave him to the teeth of another god in the half-light of almost. He finds him now, bridging the gap of too-far with the suffocation of too-near, betrayal written in between. Subaru brushes the filaments aside and they soften beneath the intention of his touch. He coaxes his face into his hands.

But you won't drown if you breathe.

If he remembers to. If he can be reminded. It seems Sumeragi Subaru isn't as immune to the call of Shirou Kamui as it might have seemed. ]

well i get to use this icon sooner than i thought

[perilously]

[ the present overlays the past. teeth bite both ways. dark dark bright bright nothing.

everything.

filaments constellate the kamui shot through the way fated love does, and sometimes the feeling of being pulled down is too close to the feeling of being saved. in other dreams: leathered wings and drapes blood-drawn. others: strips of white like a collapsed labyrinth coalesced along the throat of a failing messiah. all of these: preferable to anyone else at the center of these things.

a feeling of love might be temptation to most.

kamui would shrink from it if he could or let it pull him down until he outran it to the depths of this foreign cage, if not for a wish to keep in the place of a promise. some part of him knows it's not true: that he cannot seem to get his lungs to work. it's not real splinters the barely-there difference of it doesn't matter echoes and ripples and pleads don't don't don't. kamui can't understand.

---if you breathe.

warmth. inexplicably. immutably. kamui trembles and maybe the water responds. it takes longer than he knows to follow a love he knows. by then, subaru holds him and the filaments play by the rules foreordained even in this strange dream space. kamui's lungs burn though all this time it seems as though he had truly forgotten how to let them do what they should. so his first breath almost chokes, he blinks rapidly, flinching not from this person's touch but rather more...himself. what has he been doing? what was he thinking? his body seizes and because he's somehow managed to not breathe for so long, these first abrupt awakenings don't settle well.

in the midst of this, he hears it again, the sound he thought he placed the first indeterminable moments of sinking and tangling...something like a heartbeat.

subaru...is it yours? ]

never punished 💔

[sacral]

[ No. Thought directly into the contours of his curiosity, run gently across it like the touch of his hands to his face. This heartbeat is yours.

Which is a cruelty, he's sure. Even in the recesses of a dream, there's no safe alcove where Subaru's heartbeat waits for anyone to find it, buried or scattered. But it hadn't stopped him before and it won't stop him now. He sees the way these threads move, spilling their gleam out into the dark water like thrashing beacons to a being whose hunger never tires. Subaru has protected him as the stars wrote he would, but stars die before their glimmer ever reaches anyone who might have wished upon them.

And this dream is different than the ones you know, Kamui.

No princess, no dragons.

Subaru doesn't have the gift that allows him to walk the dreams of others. Yet here he always is, in the rubble of a maze that isn't his own, in the rubble of bones that aren't his own. So that he might navigate the invisible points that connect these stars into a recognizable picture. So that he might set his wings and send him flying again. Kamui, a boy so beloved and so reviled that he alone holds the future in hands too gentle for that weight.

He waits, holding the filaments at bay while the water seethes through his body. One malady's softness at a time.

This dream is a trial. ]

stops-ish

[hallowedly]

( The Sleep witch, the Kamui and the defenestrated wardrobe flinging wildly in the urban horizon as the mistress of logic, gravity and exterior decoration pits the resting Manhattan against the task of a forcible glow-up.

Everywhere, roads erupt; the walls strain. Light posts shriek, windows snap descend in clusters of glass shrapnel. Left becomes right, lush greens tumescent, rot of the earth churned along with soil, and ahead the slithering snapping of lightning, electric. The halcyon days of the nascent apocalypse.

All in a Tuesday.

In the end, Sakurazuka Seishirou, stranded in the unearned regalia of dark ceremonial robes and a kitsune's Noh mask, isn't toppled off his stallion, but summarily dismisses him. A beast feverish with fear is a knife turned against the heart. He has no use for that which no man can control.

By foot, tenuous progress: the obstacle course of the world is a carcass, opening itself. He treads around the bones of a bridge undone, side-steps the Hudson's water, splashing down from above. Crosses into a minatory circus of asphalt and shadow buildings burning down.

Of course his path collides with Kamui, wide-eyed, likely bushy-tailed, wrong — it was ever thus. Marks are drawn to their killing. And when the next helpful light post conversationally happens to uproot from the street's tired viscera to swing the way of their beloved Messiah...

...well, what is the Sakurazukamori to do but clutch Kamui's arm from behind and whisper, just as the street light flies on over: )

Boo. ( Look the kitsune mask in the beady eyes behind you, or escape the glorified urban projectile: pick one. )

WOW

[perilously]

[ there are many reasons for kamui to recognize precisely who this person is without much effort, despite the mask; or there are at least two. they can be conflated though perhaps they should not. blame it on the disorientation of the collapse, of the perceived storm, of the negligible but not wholly deniable discomfort of a fall. or: refusal. a gut reaction that reaches in and down the throat to vice grip the heart into an unrecognizable shape. distrust. fear. panic.

unwanted, unavoidable, unforgiven, he sees segawa keiichi speaking about his father, sees subaru still as death that won't come in the dark of that room and --

not as simple as fury but it will have to do.

but god makers and god destroyers look the same depending on where one is standing.

and kamui has made choices, continues to make them, so here, now, and maybe forever:

saves himself by reflex -- quite the easier reflex to have when there's no one else to save, shoves none too lightly at the sakurazukamori and if there is enough give then veers away like a feral cat triggered under the worst of circumstances, which it isn't, though it could be. however, if there isn't enough yield, perhaps they both get turned into part of the landscape with only a rogue streetlamp to say anything about it. and it would almost be funny if it were enough for a dragon of earth and kamui but the more likely otherwise is that the street light misses them by a hair, thanks to the dream's volatile dali-isms.

because it is a dream. every single aspect of it leaves no room for imaginings otherwise.

just not the kind of dream kamui knows.

strange too, given the city, given its post apocalyptic unspooling, scented of that which cannot, shall not last.

where?

and more importantly almost, presently,

why? ]

:' )

[hallowedly]

( Kamui slithers loose. Remarkable. Maybe the eel-like slipperiness of his twin star is why Monou Fuuma is so perpetually sullen, so constantly aggrieved.

Really, the rotund gap where Kamui's toss craters him into the nearest wall with thunderous enthusiasm. If he were a man alive, a man wakeful, a man devoid of the supernatural compulsions of a Dragon of Earth — ...this might irk him. But they're the victim of failing gravity and a maelstrom apostate of any loyalties. Even the Sakurazukamori must recalibrate his priorities, now and then.

Say, today, for the fine purpose of wooing Kamui close, Seishirou's sleeve-burdened arm beckoning him as if a cat in dire need of a venal gift. Behind him, streets yonder, buildings whole are gutted down into kerosene smears and soot-black ether. )

Our common friend wouldn't like you harmed. ( Sumeragi Subaru. Monou Fuuma. Oh, let Shirou Kamui guess. ) For reasons I haven't quite deciphered, I'm inclined to indulge him.

( And gently, as he dusts off his ceremonial robes of every lick of dust and tragic countenance of wrinkles: ) That can happen with or without your awareness or approval.

stops

[potentialman]

[ The hand that reaches to pull him aside doesn't merely pull him back by centimeters, but back into a shadow behind him, through the shadow as if it were a door.

And, almost like an afterthought, words -- not spoken into the air, but through the Murmur: Sorry, I know this is weird but try not to panic --

-- before he emerges from the other side of the shadow, not where he was but at least a good twenty meters away, and crucially, farther from the eye of the storm.

Far enough to buy time, but not much of it.

The source of the hand that grabbed him is a dark-haired boy, about his age but half a head taller, still tugging lightly on his elbow. ]

We have to keep moving.

[perilously]

Wh-- [ to say kamui is surprised would be an understatement. he flounders a little but the hand pulling him back holds fast until they are through the dark that kamui does not recognize specifically as a shadow. although time is still quite of the essence, kamui has to spend a few seconds staring, head tilted in curiosity at the other boy. he wants to ask him what he just did, who he is, a dozen other things but ...later. a slight shift of his weight reminds kamui of his own fall, quickly re-distributing to account for the injured side. the way light bleeds out instead of actual blood would distract him more if he wasn't busy trying to thank the stranger. ]

Thank you? I think...o-oh right.

[ keep moving. makes sense. but even as they rush, presumably on foot since as far as kamui knows that's their only option, not having time to coax another mare to their side, his gaze keeps returning to this person who...well.

breaths a bit short, kamui huffs but manages to ask ]

...who are you?

[ why did you help me? he feels a bit bad but depending on the moment, kamui's suspicions might be higher or lower. perhaps some of it is further fueled by the mysterious way this person did save him in the first place. his mind whirls each time a new encounter happens: friend? foe? the truth? a lie? what is the purpose?

that someone would save him just to save him...kamui doesn't even consider it in this moment. ]

[potentialman]

[ Running on foot is hardly ideal. Megumi's never had the natural speed or ridiculous stamina that Yuji has. But if he tries to use his sorcery here, without being able to give it the concentration he'd like, he's not really sure who will answer his call -- his shikigami, or Sleep.

And if it's the latter, he might as well just stop dead and wait for her to catch them. No, thank you. ]

Fushiguro Megumi. [ Which means a lot of nothing to this boy, he's sure, but there's not much of an answer he can give in the middle of a chase that's going to satisfy. ] If we just wake up before she catches us -- then there'll be time --

[ He steals a glance over his shoulder. The chaos is gaining on them. Great. ]

I'm going to do that again, brace yourself!

stops — starts stops starts

[licencetoheal]

[Enhanced reflexes can be quite handy. Between Kamui's own efforts to move, and Julian's also having enhanced reflexes, Kamui is pulled to safety just in time - though it leads to Julian bodily falling backwards while pulling him, landing hard on his rear. But the nightmare's hooves miss and then it runs away.]

[Julian wastes no time. He's too well-trained to panic and hard-won experience had hammered in the need to move rather than freeze even more.]

[He scans the man's body because a fall like that can easily cause a head injury. Sees light that should be blood. But he's not that thrown by it. He has a few minor, glowing cuts of his own mutated body (now growing parts that don't belong to it, scaly and feathered) enough to know they're probably still normal injuries.]

[Though his right eye turning gold (like a lion's) looks unnervingly predatory, his gaze and voice are still unmistakably gentle.]

Are these your only injuries? May I take a look? I'm a doctor.

[His main priority is to help the man get moving again - even if he has to carry him - but first he does need to make sure his insides will stay properly inside when he does and that he's not bleeding out. It'll certainly affect how he needs to be helped along and whether or not Julian will be reduced to quickly tearing off his uniform sleeves for impromptu bandages.]

[perilously]

[ the save that ends in a modest pile on the very soon to be collapsing ground is...not as bad as it could have been. that said, kamui does his best to scramble off of the other person, stumbling only a little due to putting too much pressure on his wrong side trying to get up, and the earth beneath them shifting like staying in place is a cosmic insult. ]

Thank you. I'm so sorry about...what?

[ kamui finds his own combination gratitude-apology put on pause, interjected by a touch of practicality. he opens his mouth to reply only to abruptly duck into a full crouch to avoid some random sizable debris -- which goes flying...somewhere, wincing as more light bleeds out of him. swallowing a slight gasp kamui just presses his hands to his side and hopes it's enough for now, offering a shaky smile. ]

I appreciate the offer but...we don't have time, really...right?

[ he doesn't mean to stare, but since he's already looking at him anyway, some of kamui's focus does end up on the near gold of that eye as he continues, ]

...you should hurry on...there's probably others who need you more.

[ the light pouring from his pale fingers pressed against his side says otherwise, but kamui barely understands what's going on, except that it's a dream. so surely...he'll wake up? of course, what that means for his body outside of the dream, he doesn't know. ]

[licencetoheal]

[They don't really have the time but he also needs to get this man on his feet and moving again, so he can get to safety. Julian knows that doing so can be a lot easier when someone has at least some basic first aid.]

I don't intend to stay long. Only long enough to get you moving again.

[It's a practical enough sentiment but what's unsaid is he's not in a rush to escape at all. He's seen multiple people try to struggle out of here, several thrown from the horses. In good conscience, he can't leave until he tries his best to make sure anyone that falls down can at least get back up.]

[In this man's case, a crude bandage around his side and/or an impromptu sling might make it a little less painful to move, letting him move faster. He can worry about cleaning the wound, bandaging it with something more sterile, and the....er, glowing later.]

[He holds out his hands towards Kamui's side but doesn't touch him yet.]

May I see? I just want to make sure it's not too deep.