JAWS • DECEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JAWS

Watch on YouTube

ᛗ

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—?.

ᛗ

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.

ᛗ

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.

ᛗ

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!

network ᛗ logs ᛗ ooc ᛗ memes ᛗ navigation

code

code

Comments

[zauns]

[He doesn't know her, but she knows him, and that makes him wary. It wasn't uncommon, back in the Undercity - nearly everyone knew his name, and there was no possible way for him to know all of them. But this isn't the Undercity. He doesn't have the power he held there. He doesn't have any power at all.

And that instantly puts him on his guard. That she's Jinx's friend doesn't change that. He doesn't know if it's true, and even if it is, that doesn't mean she's any less of a threat. More, perhaps. It makes her look suspicious, possibly dangerous, possibly even a threat.]

I don't expect miracles. [He watches her closely, but stays carefully neutral, even a touch friendly. With so little power, Silco has to be cautious.] I only want to know more about this place.

[Though now that's a secondary concern, because -] You're Jinx's friend?

[merged]

[ Sharon casually walks toward him, glass crunching beneath her boots, water seeping from the seams. She looks like a drowned cat, bleached hair plastered to her scalp, masking the frizz that normally defies containment. She carries no obvious weapon, her clothes fitting too snugly to hide much, though something might be tucked in the pockets of her white leather vest. She makes no move for the pockets, though. ]

Yep, Jinx's friend. Sharon da Silva. I'd offer a handshake, but— [ A quick show of the speckles of blood on her palms, then wipes them on her soaked leggings. ] Should've known better than to land like that. Lucky for us, it's just a dream. Even dying isn't a big deal.

[ That's a lie. You might not truly die in the real world, but the memory lingers like tar, impossible to scrub away. ]

[zauns]

[Neither of them have weapons, and she doesn't seem especially physically gifted, which theoretically puts them on equal footing. Silco can't be sure of that, though. He watches her hands, keeps just a bit of distance between them. 'Jinx's friend' could mean many things, as well as being a simple lie, and he isn't sure yet which it is.]

It does feel like a dream. The logic doesn't hold up. [He nods at her hands.] Do they hurt, even so?

[Silco would personally rather not experience death, even in a dream. Once was enough.]

How do you know Jinx?

[merged]

They do. You definitely feel it if you get hurt. [ She's used to it by now. She's dealt with far worse in these dreams—had something wraps its tentacles around her throat and force its way past her teeth to rip out every piece of darkness she'd thought she'd buried, killing her in the process. A couple of scrapes or bruises can't compare.

At his question, she tucks her hands into the pockets of her leather vest. It reads more as nerves than any move toward a weapon, her lips pressed together, brows knitting in thought. ]

We met in a dream like this one and hit it off. [ It's the simplest version of the truth, and probably the safest one. She barely knows Silco beyond the fragmented memories she's caught through Jinx, but she knows enough to know better than try to explain the fruit that had shoved them into a desperate, hungry closeness. That's not exactly a story you tell the dad on the first meeting. ] Since then, we've had each other's backs in Manhattan—that's where we'll wake up when this ends. It's not an easy place to survive, and we've had to rely on each other more than once.

[zauns]

[Silco tucks that information away, though it's about what he expected. Nothing about this dream has felt like a normal one, and he's had his share of unpleasant dreams. Better, safer, to treat it as something else. Something that can hurt and even kill, as she says.]

Is that so? Then you have my thanks. I'm glad to hear she's found someone she can trust in this strange place.

[And Silco even almost means it. He has complicated feelings about Jinx trusting a stranger enough to have them at her back. At base, he doesn't like it, and perhaps paradoxically it makes him trust Sharon less. It makes him want to watch her carefully, to be prepared for the moment she proves she isn't worthy of Jinx's trust.

But Jinx is alive, and relatively undamaged, all things considered. He can't deny that he's grateful for that.]

Or... in 'Manhattan', I suppose. And that place isn't a dream?

[merged]

[ Sharon's lips press together at his gratitude, unsure what to do with it, so she lets it roll over her with nothing more than a small shrug. Thanks weren't necessary. She genuinely likes Jinx, enjoys her unpredictability—especially now that she's seen the cracks in her mask and the softer parts beneath it. ]

No, it's not. It's as real as real can be, but most days it feels more like a nightmare. It's the type of place where you really do need other people if you want to survive it. [ And Jinx's already had her fair share of close calls. ] Honestly, I wouldn't have made it if I hadn't found people I could trust.

[ It's impossible to overstate how brutal the city can be, especially for anyone wandering it alone. You need connections, need people to lean on, need tethers strong enough to keep you from succumbing to Sleep's infectious disease. ]

[zauns]

[Trust isn't exactly a commodity that Silco has a ready supply of. In the Undercity, he fought for every bit of power he had, turned himself into a monster, killed the weaker parts of himself. And he survived, grew strong because of it - not because of trust, which has rarely gotten him anything but betrayal.

But he knows how it works. It doesn't need to be real trust, if you have something the other person wants. Loyalty can be built on a complex web of need, obligation, and power. So while Silco doesn't particularly like what he's hearing, it's not so different than Zaun, back in the worst days. He'll just have to claw out some form of power.]

It doesn't sound pleasant, but I suppose it's better than being dead.

[Probably? Maybe he shouldn't speak too soon.]

How long have you been there? And Jinx?

[merged]

Most of the time. [ No point sugarcoating it. Some days—not all, but enough—dying almost seems like it would be the easier option. Still, Sharon isn't the type to spend much time with thoughts like that. Giving up has never been in her nature, no matter how ugly things get. ]

We've been there about four months now. [ We—Jinx and Sharon dropped into Manhattan at the same time, and the sheer amount that's happened since makes those months feel stretched thin and frayed. ] It was hard to keep track since there wasn't any daylight the first two months. Jinx was living out of a mattress store back then, had that place rigged with so many goddamn traps. [ Despite the sharpness of her words, there's no missing the fondness woven through them. ] Her current place is just as decked out, too.

[zauns]

[There might be the faintest trace of a smile on Silco's face. There's certainly a flash of - something that might be fondness. But one would need to be watching closely to catch it, and people don't tend to like watching Silco's face closely.]

That sounds like her. [His voice, though, is hard to mistake. It's softer, just a little, as if he can't help it. The softness disappears quickly, snuffed out almost as soon as it appears.] You seem to have managed to keep all your fingers, though. Impressive. Are you skilled with that sort of thing as well?

[If she's going to be around Jinx - which Silco doesn't especially like, but understands he may have to accept for the moment - he needs to find out what she's capable of.]

[merged]

[ There's no missing the fondness in his voice, and it takes a bit of the edge off Silco in her mind. She still hasn't forgotten some of the things he's said to Jinx, or how wrong they'd sat with her, but at least he sounds like he genuinely cares for the girl. That fleeting softness matters more right now than anything else. ]

It's a lot less impressive when you know she's always walked me through her traps. [ Sharon admits with a faint, almost sheepish smile. ] But no. I leave the traps and the explosives to Jinx. My skills lie elsewhere. [ She doesn't bother explaining what they are; compared to someone as capable as Jinx, her own talents feel small, and there's no point in dragging them into the light. ]

Did she pick that skillset up from you?

[zauns]

[He sets the subject aside for the moment, but Silco has taken note of Sharon's response - that she carefully avoided any mention of what her own skills might be. That could mean a lot of things, but it certainly doesn't mean that Silco will be any less suspicious of her.

But if Jinx has been walking this girl through her traps - she really does trust Sharon. Silco didn't doubt that, exactly, Jinx isn't inclined to manipulation or deception, but to hear something like that? He isn't pleased.

But he keeps his tone neutral, filing that away with the rest. For now.]

Not me. Her mother, perhaps, to some small extent. [Felicia was good with machines, but never to that level - and, of course, she never had much time to teach her daughter anything.] She's self-taught. A natural genius with such things.

[merged]

[ Sharon knows Jinx lost her parents young, and it's not something they've spoken about much. Losing them, then losing both adoptive fathers, too, is a weight nobody should have to carry. Some subjects aren't meant to be pushed, and Sharon leaves them be unless Jinx indicates she's willing.

When Silco calls Jinx a natural genius, Sharon can't stop the fond curve of her mouth, a quiet hum slipping out. ] That doesn't surprise me. She's one smart cookie. Picked up English fast as hell. [ Her voice edges toward open admiration without her meaning it to. ] She's impressive, and she's dangerous in all the right ways.

[ She pauses before adding: ] Did you know her mother? [ Vander had been close to the woman, but Sharon knows little about how Silco fit into that part of Jinx's life. ]

[zauns]

[He pauses for a moment, considering what to say. None of it is a secret. There are those still alive in Zaun who remember when he and Felicia were friends, when he was a different person. Silco has never tried to hide that connection, but he also doesn't think of it often. That man is long dead, and so is she.]

I did. We were friends. [One of his closest, for someone who had a hard time letting people close even all those years ago. If she had lived, none of the rest might have happened.] Jinx is like her in some ways, not at all in others.

[But he's never seen Jinx as an echo of her mother. She's her own person, she has always been. It's only chance she's Felicia's, or so he tells himself. She could have been anyone's and she would still be the same, to him.]

What has she told you about her mother? [Another pause, brief.] About me? [How open has Jinx been?]

[merged]

Not much about her mother. [ They skirt sensitive ground, and Sharon has no desire to push it, not when it comes to Jinx. ] You, though... [ Her gaze narrows a touch, thoughtful, and she looks away as she weighs her words, deciding how honest to be. Sharon knows he wasn't the best parent, but he tried. He coddled her, let her get away with far too much, and loved her even while manipulating her. She knows he can be dangerous. Maybe not with his hands, but with his words, with how easily he can steer people. Jinx thinks he's just broken, that all he needs is acceptance and love to mend whatever made him this way. Sharon's not so sure.

In the end, she settles on: ] I know you used to run shit in Zaun, and that Jinx matters to you. Beyond that, we don't really dig into our pasts. No point reopening wounds we would both rather let heal. [ It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Sharon knows better than to spill everything Jinx has confided in her, or to reveal what she's pieced together by reading between the lines. ]

[zauns]

I see.

[Silco isn't sure he believes that. It's exactly the sort of careful answer one might give if they knew more than they thought they should - and Silco has no illusions about what stories might be told about him. Just that much - 'you used to run shit in Zaun' - says a lot. It isn't as if Jinx would try to make him look like a saint, after all - and why should she? Silco doesn't regret anything he's done.

But if Sharon knows more than she's saying, she's doing the intelligent thing and keeping it close to her chest.]

Since this isn't Zaun, I suppose none of that matters anymore. [Even if there do seem to be enough people here who know him that it might, in fact, matter quite a bit.] We can all simply leave our baggage behind, just like that. And is that what you've done?

[merged]

To the best of my ability. [ She admits. There is no point in lying. She has plenty she keeps tucked away, and she is certain everyone else does too, in one way or another. ] Some things you can't leave behind, and other things get dragged out whether you want them to be or not. You won't always be in the right state of mind where we're going.

[ Some things are unavoidable. Facts slip loose. Given what she knows of Silco, this is something he needs to hear and to be ready for. ] There's something called sundowning that happens—well, when the sun goes down. Real on the nose. Some people get more emotional. Some people lose their memories. Others get dangerous, aggressive. It's basically a dice roll every night on how it'll affect you. You never know what you might do or spill when you're like that.

[zauns]

[Unsurprisingly, Silco doesn't like the sound of that. Especially all that it implies, the vulnerability, the necessity of relying on others to keep your secrets or handle your emotions. Aggression sounds easier, though Silco always prefers to handle that in a more calculated way, too.

Overall, he's not looking forward to it. But more importantly -]

Has Jinx been affected?

[He has no illusions about her control of her emotions as it is. An influence like that could only make her more erratic, and while that would certainly make her more dangerous - it would also make her more vulnerable, too. And Silco likes the thought of that even less.]

I would hope no one has taken advantage of such a thing.

[merged]

I don't know anyone who hasn't been affected. [ The words land heavy—tired. Sundowning makes Jinx's issues worse, just like it does her own. ] And... while there are a few people in the city who might try to take advantage of someone in that state, I don't think anyone has messed with Jinx. A smart person wouldn't.

[ But intelligence can be just as fleeting once the sun goes down. She exhales slowly. ] You know her. She wouldn't let anyone get away with hurting her.

[zauns]

No. She wouldn't. But she can be hurt even so.

[It will be vital to find ways to protect themselves. Jinx likely already has - her traps, of course, and even befriending people like Sharon. But she isn't so methodical as Silco, and doesn't always care for her own safety the way he might prefer.

But since Sharon is being so forthcoming -]

Tell me about Tethers.

[merged]

[ Silco is right: Jinx can be hurt—and she has been. Sharon has no idea how many times, especially now that the girl can heal herself. Maybe that's something she's better off not knowing. ]

I love how you ask. [ Pointed. A reminder that she is not someone who acts on demand—not unless she wants to, and in this case, he is lucky that she does. ] It's a psychic connection between you and another living thing—plant, animal, person. I would strongly suggest you stick to people. One guy was a dumbass and tethered himself to a flower. Did not take long before he started coughing up petals.

[ As she speaks, she drifts between the pews, careful to avoid the shafts of light spilling through the cathedral windows. Glass crunches softly beneath her boots. ] You'll need a few to survive Manhattan. The fastest way to get one is sex, but a strong emotional connection can form one pretty quickly, too. Uh, shit... [ She exhales, rubbing at the back of her neck. There is a lot to explain, and teaching isn't something she excels at. ] They can be invasive, especially if you're not the type who's used to sharing yourself. You start feeling what the other person feels, catching flashes of memories as if they're yours. And vice versa, of course.

You can sever them, but the deeper they go, the worse it hurts. [ She hesitates, then adds more quietly: ] Can feel a bit like dying.

[zauns]

[Silco is silent for a moment. He doesn't like any of that.

Sex is one thing, with its own issues (Silco is quite aware of his appearance), but emotional connections in general aren't exactly something he welcomes. Particularly something like that - invasive, feeling someone else's emotions, even memories. Even if the connection goes both ways, you're still making yourself vulnerable in a way he has taken pains to avoid for some years now.

Except for Jinx, of course, which he didn't intend. But he doesn't expect something like that to repeat itself - nor would he want it to. But it appears there isn't much choice.]

What an unpleasant place this is.

[But the alternative, for him, is death. And Jinx has been here alone all this time - Silco can't accept the thought of that continuing, even if it were his choice. So he'll just have to make it work, as distasteful as it all sounds. Claw some power out of the whole situation, one way or another.]

If they're necessary to survive, I suppose there's nothing to be done about it. [And he eyes her, because the obvious conclusion is already there.] I take it you have one of these tethers with my daughter?

[merged]

[ When he points out just how unpleasant all of this is, Sharon lets out a quiet snort, tipping her head in a half nod. Yeah. It's miserable, exhausting, a constant uphill grind, but it still beats being dead. It beats being sacrificed to bring a god into the world, too.

His next question doesn't really surprise her. ] I mean, yeah. [ Her tone is very duh. ] We formed one pretty early on. [ She hesitates, just for a heartbeat, then adds: ] That doesn't bother you, does it? [ There's something knowing in the way she asks, in the slight tug of her upper lip. Jinx once warned her that Silco might see her as a bad influence, and Sharon can't help but test that theory now. ]