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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guren ichinose ☾ seraph of the end: catastrophe at 16 ☾ new player

[demoon]

☾ 1. show me those pretty white jaws

( The first gasp of awareness floods his lungs with water, a choke of air bubbling out and forcing the winding tendrils around him out further. His arms reach to his own throat, teeth gritting as eyes blink through the darkness towards those strips of light that coil closer. A second breath comes with necessity, after the long throb in his chest begs for it, and this time, it's a smooth roll of air that flows in and out. As if it was always so easy. Relief blows out a smooth exhale, and Guren's arms lower in a winding motion to encourage movement. It's in the first kicks of his legs that movement catches his eyes further, and he glances again at the tendrils that float around and past him.

Love. The smiling face of a girl, all alone on a hill. The lone extension of a hand in a classroom where he doesn't belong. His own father's hand upon his head. Countless eyes looking up to him, watching him, following him. His fingers stretch out and graze along the thin shape of a twisting memory, and when their faces threaten to fade away, he stretches out further, fist curling around filament in a grip so tight it bends the memories themselves. There, they begin to wrap and coil around him, warm as they are threatening, and he can't bring himself to let go. Too weak, the thought echoes out, and as his body sinks lower and the love surrounds him further, his eyes dart around for the chance of an exit.

Should he find the thin thread of a memory or dream not his own, he'll reach out as if on instinct, his own filaments tying together in an attempted bond. But he's not much of a talker, and it hardly seems to matter, anyway— she's found them already, lurking beneath, waiting for the right moment to open her maw. )

☾ 2. where the delicate stops

( This isn't too unlike the nightmare of his own world. Strange, nonsensical, devoid of that voice in his heart even if the presence is still there, and without any of his power— but something he can adapt to. Strangely, he had hardly any trouble locating and bonding with his own mare, and though the lights of the cathedral had swathed him in a number of layers of different appearances, different expectations, he had pushed his way through and out. Now, on the back of his own mare, darting through falling pieces of buildings and dropping bodies, it feels all too familiar. Like the end of the world.

Though it pains him to do so, Guren passes by plenty of faces. Quick judgement tells him whether or not he can make it in time, thanks to experience with the unpredictable, with the vastly stronger than him. But when he meets eyes with a stranger in the streets flooded with water and shadow, when his darting eyes can't find the proof that something might get in their way, he makes a decision. )

Grab on!

( His legs stretch out first, one knee on the back of his nightmare and the arm of the same side hooked about its neck. His arm stretches next, fingers angled out as far as they can, ready to catch and grip onto whatever he can manage of the stranger he's bolting past now. Ideally, hand meets hand and curls into a tight and solid grip that he uses to swing them up and onto the back of the mare alongside him. But in a pinch, he'll settle for the back of a shirt, the crook of an arm, or the length of some hair. Survival is more important than comfort.

Whether it's a smooth transition or a bumpy one, Guren's relief comes out in the form of a puffed exhale, his own body sliding back into a proper seat. Arms hook around the stranger he's yanked in front of him, one gripping into the voidlike mane of the beast carrying them, and the other works shamelessly across his new company's waist, like a seatbelt. )

☾ 3. wildcard

( ooc: I am a bit late to the party thanks to work hell, but excited to be here. ♥ Guren is 16 at his canon point (but yes he can lift older/larger characters in that last prompt) and has been through so much. I am open to any of the prompts, and am currently playing around with him as a Token, though I haven't picked which just yet! Necromancer, shadowbinder, and bloodwright are all options. I also might flip and make him a Daemon/Offering if I do app, depending on how things go! )

2

[trashblaze]

[ Well, look who landed himself in this situation because he saved a Nightmare: near the edge of a street that's about to break apart soon, hanging onto a slightly higher ground that's about to collapse. It wasn't even a Nightmare he knew, but that didn't mean Caelus was about to ignore an animal in need— whether or not it's a dream creature or something, that is irrelevant in his mind. When someone is in need, he really can't help it, even if that means risking himself in the process.

Thankfully, this young man came by in time. Actually, Caelus isn't entirely in trouble per se, because he's skilled enough to be able to pull himself out of the situation. He's risky, but not self-destructive. However, he will always accept assistance when it's there. So, when the hand is extended, he leaps towards it after releasing what he was holding onto, and is smoothly aided up because he uses it as leverage to swing, then jump a great height. (The young man didn't need to pull him up at all.) He lands right onto the Nightmare afterward.

Despite what happened, Caelus remains with a strong and vibrant aura, with no signs of panic or fright. He even looks back and smiles. ]

Hey, thanks for the hand.

[ Literally… ]

[demoon]

( A bright smile in the face of danger combined with a clear knowledge and skill in handling himself? Immediately, Shinya comes to mind— and maybe it's the fresh memories of the earlier layers of this dream that has Guren even distracted by that comparison. He quickly stomps that down, busy guiding a directing hand against the side of the neck of this mare to narrowly avoid more collapsing scenery of the dream. )

Don't thank me yet.

( At least with the realization that this guy is capable enough, Guren feels confident in loosening his grip around his waist. Like this, he can lean better as needed, either forward or to each side, and trust that Caelus stays on the beast along with him. )

Any tips on where to guide this thing?

( There are two options for that casual smile and comfort: either this guy is strong enough to act this way in any situation, or he's been here long enough to be vaguely familiar with what's going on. ...Or both. He guesses both could be an option. )

[trashblaze]

Don't be modest and accept my feelings, brother.

[ Joking… Caelus laughs shortly, trying to lighten the mood despite the destruction going on around them. But after this, he turns around to focus on what's ahead of them. This new friend appears to be a good horse rider, or at least it seems that way so far. That means the trailblazer can focus on aiding to protect them as they make their way through this.

Caelus lifts an arm to point to a certain direction, indicating the open rift in the distance, the edge of the dream. It's quite a way there, but it's the only exit. ]

You see that? That's where we need to go. Also! "Thing" is kind of cold! You haven't named your friend? I can ask its original name, if you want.

[ It's actually a temporary offer too, while Caelus's original abilities aren't disabled, as they only work within dream spaces like this one. Sleep takes them away in the waking world, so he won't be able to converse with the Nightmare later on. But it doesn't matter if the young man prefers to give it a new name. ]

[demoon]

Pass.

( He bats back that joke with a flat one of his own, seemingly used to this sort of banter mid-action. Even still, his eyes flick up to follow the direction of Caelus' pointing arm, a gentle tug on his mare's mane indicating the direction. He thought as much, but it's nice to have confirmation: that is an exit. Her shadowy hooves press off of crumbling sidewalks and streets to carry them forward, and Guren leans forward with it, urging Caelus to do the same. )

Do you normally name your friends?

( It's a joke of a question; rest assured, Guren would have called anyone or anything this thing in the context here. His hand is gentle enough to indicate a stronger bond with this horse than he'd be willing to outwardly admit, and her own lack of distaste for his words shares a similar viewing on her side, at least. She doesn't take offense.

Still, after a bit of pause, and by the time they dodge past a car launching towards them that certainly shouldn't be, he speaks again. )

Go ahead, if you want. ( He does want to know, genuinely. He also is curious to see what Caelus means to do in order to figure that out. He just has to sound aloof about it. Appearances and all, you know. )

jaws!

[dedicate]

[ upon wrapping his fingers around this filament, glowing brightly even if not with his own light, the vision that greets guren is modest. the door before him swings open with a flourish, and on the other side of it is a cozy room, almost like something one would find on a college club or dorm. at the center of it all, a pair of circular couches have blankets haphazardly tossed over them, and the coffee table between them is covered in an old, admittedly kind of ugly tablecloth. the bookshelves around the edges are lined with books, manhwa and board games, and where there's no bookshelf is a whiteboard, filled with messages:

– The best rescue agent was here
– If you play EDM at my funeral, a dokkaebi will come get you
– We’ll never forget our Black Tortoise Team 1

it's a warm place. somewhere that really shows the personalities of the people who have, and do reside within it, and perhaps even that is enough for guren's heart to swell with a pride that isn't quite his own. beside him, a soft voice, one that clearly hadn't expected this, comments: “Yes ...It’s a very pleasant space.” ]

What do you think? Pretty great, huh?

[ the memory closes out—or rather, a voice brimming with that very same pride cuts through it, causing it to slowly dissipate. the voice, regretfully, does not seem to be coming from anywhere 'nearby'. rather, it's as if the words are delivered straight into his mind. there's no consideration for the distortion or muffling that should be occurring underwater.

the owner, a man whose eyes and nose are covered by a smiling wooden mask, feels a smile curve across his lips too once he's noticed. ]

But kiddo, do you wanna c'mere for a sec?

[demoon]

( Cozy. A space for friends, for found family, is what Guren can gather by taking in those messages on the board. The pride that swells in his chest may not be his own, but he can find a thread of familiarity within it, thin and tight, that he longs to hold onto. But as soon as that foreign voice enters his mind, the threads of this dream (memory? vision? illusion?) begin to meld into the water around him, fading out. And then it's something else he has to worry about.

A voice from nowhere sets him on edge, body tense and prepared to react, even if he stays calm and still— his eyes flick out this way and that, and he finds himself having to turn in the water to find what he can only assume to be the source. A man, a smiling wooden mask, a potential threat. There's no proving that he's the one who spoke just now, but his instincts tell him it must be.

More than that, the sight of that mask is enough to draw attention to the own at his face. Cracked halfway down the center, it covers only a portion of his face in its darkness, one horn protruding up from the top of the forehead covering. A demon's mask. As Guren's hands touch onto it, his thoughts come automatically— a strange sensation from someone who generally picks his words far more carefully. )

Why should I?

( Distrust and caution floods up like a great wall, and Guren's face turns back downward, towards the large and ominous shape circling beneath them. She's yet to make herself known, but he can feel the threat of her; even still, the company of a stranger doesn't feel any safer. He can only trust himself, right now. That tension draws his own filaments tighter, wrapping around his limbs snugly, but he doesn't seem to show any signs of panic— just analyzing, cold, wary. )

You can tell me what this place is from there, can't you?

[dedicate]

[ the tension in this kid's body language is easy to read, and his words aren't any more relaxed, but choi's reply comes easy: ]

Aigoo, how cold~ But being cautious isn't a bad thing in a place like this.

[ judging by how old he looks, it feels perfectly par the course for him to react like that, so choi takes no offense to the comments. ]

You probably figured it out by now, but this place is a dream. That doesn't mean it's can't be dangerous though!

[ that presence looming below them is proof enough of that.

but choi continues to watch guren. it's hard when the almost apologetic expression he's making doesn't translate too well past the mask, but maybe in his voice it will be enough? it'd really make things easier on him if they could come to some kind of compromise with words here. ]

What do they say—the enemy of my enemy is my friend? I'm not on that thing's side, so let's look at it like that for now, yeah?

[demoon]

I'm not your friend.

( Immediately and stubbornly, with the petulance of a child. It may be the most childlike thing about him, in this moment or any other, because the eyes he fixes Choi with are anything but. Intense, cold, analyzing. But after a few long moments, he relents, kicking off with his feet to swim closer.

It's strange, but the tendrils of warm filament around him bend to allow for his movement, arching widely to make his travel that much easier. Guren notes it with a quiet consideration, but he doesn't say anything. Nor does he get very close to Choi— just enough to be in conversation's distance.

Not that they seem to need that, with how he's been hearing his voice loud and clear. )

Who are you? What do you want?

( Considering the importance of his "dreams" lately being places to speak to demons, and the feelings of this one now, can he be blamed for being direct? )

☾ 3. hitting tag in bingo!

[roedeer]

[ kim soleum has ventured here many times, it's becoming a common spot of interest because what if this is the way out? with as many people whose attention has come to the cathedral, he can't help but double back to check on a few things. the stained glass, the eerie light that trickles through the cracks, and kim soleum finds himself standing in front of a large window as he gazes down the hall.

that's not what matters though.

the moment guren comes to the cathedral's mouth covered in shade thanks to it's awning, he'll catch a bright yellow sticky note stuck there inviting anyone willing to read it. it's been there for some time now, but not long enough for the back to lose its strength from keeping it up on the surface.

if he reads it, he'll see in neat handwriting: ]

READ EVERY ME!
Walk 12 steps forward, and turn left!

pls put me back too... >.<

[ underneath the text, an arrow pointing deeper into the cathedral beckons the reader to follow that direction. what guren can probably tell from where he stands that not too far away, there's another sticky note of the same size as the one in his hand.

the sticky note twelve steps ahead is also underneath the darkness of the cathedral.

now the question is, does he trust them? would he use them? ...are they dangerous?

somewhere deeper within the building, soleum has a yellow sticky note in hand that he's placing on a pillar. ]

[demoon]

( Guren's footsteps are near silent as he approaches the first sticky note. Ominous shadows stretch out from the light of the cathedral windows, but Guren peels the sticky note off without a second thought, thumb swiping just beneath that silly little drawn out face with the gentle crackle of paper.

Trust is a word that's hard earned, and one that he thought he'd give to no one. Still, with the flight of smiling faces fresh in his mind from the last layer of dream, he's all too reminded of the possibility, of the need. But for some weird notes in a church? For some stranger a few notes deep, pinning them up? Not an ounce of it.

That doesn't mean he stays out of it, of course. With a louder step forward, and a small assortment of the sticky notes he's followed here now crinkled between the fingers of his right hand, Guren calls out to the figure that he sees deeper in, illuminated by the light in a way that seems foggy, uncertain. He hasn't gotten a read on this person, so there's no impression to be had. Nothing negative, in his distrust, and nothing positive. A lack of solidity. )

Hey.

( His voice sounds out loud enough to echo slightly. But anyway— he absolutely did not heed the pleading to return these notes, as indicated by the way he waves them a little in hand, all stuck together. )

What gives? You setting up a scavenger hunt?

[roedeer]

[ he may have not heeded them entirely, but he surely did follow, didn't he? kim soleum's eyes find the yellow notes in unfamiliar hands, and under his deer-like mask, the daydream employee offers a small smile. ]

Hello.

[ that is a scenario to happen, isn't it? someone picking them one by one so there's a possibility he needs something stronger to keep them in place. seeing that, he's already withdrawing the one he's put on the surface underneath the blanket of shade he stands under, and he turns in direction of his company. ]

Um... no, not really. I wanted to check if they were still up after placing them.

[ notes that guide a person to stay in the dark, to stay out of the light, and to avoid having their reflection seen in the windows. they're not hard asks at all, with as big as the cathedral is, some might need help in case they see something they don't want to. he's met enough people who have commented on what they've seen when alone, and this should help doubly for those in pairs.

...what he's seen while in a pair hasn't been good for his sanity.

he shakes his head. ]

I see my methods need some work.

[demoon]

( Though he sticks to the shadows to find the notes and this trail, light reaches for him in ways that he already clocks as unnatural. It's ironic, considering the mask upon his own face is that of a demon, cracked in half along the center, with one horn protruding from his forehead on the side of his face it covers. He dares a few steps closer, unimpressed eyes flicking back down to the sticky notes in his hands. )

Maybe tape.

( Sticky notes are hardly reliable enough to stay posted, are they? His footsteps slow to a halt before this stranger, and he holds out the small assortment of sticky notes in an insistent gesture for him to take them back, all while scanning him up and down. Deer mask, keeping to the shadows, too, so he might be trying to help people. Then again, he could be deceiving them, too...

Guren looks out to the rest of the large cathedral, the beams of light stark against the shadows at its edges. )

What's wrong with the light?

2. woaw. guren. my roommate has a giant poster of him framed on our wall...

[inverseye]

[ The streets run with water, soot, and soon, Saheon is sure, blood. The city around them crumbles, and his steed had (predictably) abandoned him.

It's not enough to make him give up, but it's enough to put him in a foul mood. Even the notion that this is a dream isn't enough to spare his racing heart as he runs through the breaking streets.

Then, all at once. A boy on a horse, offering a hand to those in need. Saheon doesn't hesitate for a second, twisting on a heel to run towards Guren himself. He grabs hold of flank and arm alike, easily clinging on as the beast races on.

But strangely, a hand comes up to grip the labels of Guren's military uniform, a look in his rescued victims eyes a little to intense for just mere gratitude. He couldn't be planning too...? ]

Obliged.

[ That dry remark is about all Guren gets before the man below him tries to pull him off the horse. ]

omg... handshaking your roommate, his future self... handsome man that he is

[demoon]

Tch—!

( It's not the first time he's been punished for his kindness. From within, he can hear Noya laughing at him, can even imagine the sort of scolding he'd receive from friends and allies— but there's not a shred of regret as he catches that odd glance and braces himself, and not a moment of hesitation in leaning over so that his free arm can swing a punch right for this man's jaw.

It means he's hanging onto this shadowy excuse for a horse with just his legs, an insane feat of flexibility and core strength that might be a surprise coming from a teenager. But beneath the half demon mask, his eyes sharpen, his fingers curl tighter into their grip on this stranger, and he yanks with a pull of his own, trying to see if he can swing him off.

The emotional intensity means that the dream seems to be falling apart more rapidly in his vicinity, leading to an abrupt shift of direction from his mare as she tries to navigate. Beneath his skin, runes glow faintly red, reminiscent of the marks of his cursed gear— but Guren doesn't say a word in response. Not yet. )

they like wet cat(astrophe at sixteen) guren best...don't worry....

[inverseye]

Ugh!

[ Ow! The blow hurts! In a dream, they all wear their original forms like set dressing, but that means Saheon is back to being an ordinary office worker instead of a animal hybrid. The loss of strength isn't pleasant, but even a teenager with a firm punch can't immediately overpower an adult with a deathgrip.

Saheon doesn't blink, and while his teeth grit and his jaw smarts, he doesn't look regretful or afraid. He's not moving! ]

Don't make this harder then it has to be.

[ Somehow, he's still even got time for a little typical punk dialogue while he tightens his grip. Saheon doesn't have a hand free, one is stuck holding onto Guren, the other his steed, but with his own strength and Guren's helpful lean towards him, he manages to get his head at an angle to try to bash his forehead into Gurens. ]

3. make it horse girl era

[sacral]

[ Like most things within these dreams, the garden that creeps narrow and pale outside of the cathedral is strange mostly in theory. Uncanny in its prettiness, maybe, too still and spellbound by their host's toothy predilections. But these are actual blooms and actual trees twined with the crushed architecture of the cathedral's trailing, unlike the rot that plagues Manhattan. Subaru finds he can't be all that critical of it, even if he's aware the shadows dwelling here only hold themselves in the shape of familiarity by his family's upbringing in the occult and esoteric. To see a void horse, then, its silhouette smeared by smoke and the very edges of wakefulness...

...isn't so weird.

What's weirder, he notices as he walks the gardens with his hard-won mare in tow, is to find people who linger like he does, not quite ready to proceed onward through the crumbling hollow. And weirder still, those who find a likewise fondness for the creatures with their hooves half in shadow. That's how he comes to a stop, attention momentarily caught by the sight of a teen making fast friends with a nightmare. ]

It seems you're getting on well.

[ Spoken from a respectable distance, just soft enough to not stir the horse's mercurial nature. ]

2 horse girls when we should be asleep

[demoon]

( Soft steps still register in the peripherals of his mind, ever aware of threats and dangers that seem to aim for him specifically. Still, the simple and friendly words from a stranger pointed in his direction are enough to earn a huff of breath, his white-gloved palm slipping away from the front of the bonded mare's muzzle. He's dressed not in his school uniform, but something more military, and the gaze that flicks over to Subaru is just as childishly indignant as it is strangely and analytically cold. An odd mix. )

I'd rather not get thrown off halfway across.

( Like an excuse, he snaps out the words, and his horse seems to take no offense to it. Rather, her head shakes as she lets out a snort of her own, tattered and shadowy mane dancing like wind itself as her forehead finds his arm again, urging another press of his palm. He obliges, albeit a little less warmly than before. Embarrassed? Maybe.

His eyes stay on Subaru, this time, taking him in. His frame, his features, and most notably at the moment, his own nightmare. As his fingers tangle through the wispy mess of shadowy fur, he gives an almost pointed tip of his head towards that nightmare in question.

Not making fun of him, then. Just digging for what might matter? Or maybe he truly is harmless, some innocent trapped in a warped reality. )

Looks like you've got the same idea. ( He pauses, eyes gradually turning back to his own mare. ) Unless you're staying here?

[sacral]

[ What does it say of their merry, dreaming lot that Subaru is more surprised to see someone treating the mare with a gentle touch? Or maybe that he's receiving one so easily in return? Subaru shakes his head as if to dispel the initial impression of petulance, finding the pragmatism that wells in its wake more interesting. He wouldn't be the first young man of this caliber that Subaru has come across, but that makes his demeanor pliant in return. His horse, by contrast, is a flaring, proud thing, beauty and aggression in her every dancing step. ]

I did, but she didn't make it easy on me.

[ Almost humor in his flatness; beneath his four-eyed mask, he has a busted lip.

Reaching up, he taps the underside of the mare's cheek to signal her to approach with him. For now, they walk side by side. She has some of the dream blossoms woven into her mane where she's made it more corporeal — for that vain, specific purpose. ]

Do you like them? These animals.

[ Or is it just a natural affinity? ]

1

[sweetsong]

[ whether or not guren wants it or not, their filaments find each other. fate or fortune has brought him into this space--- bright and cheery, festive and full of light and the opposite of what has surrounded them up to this point. a countertop with glass jars filled to the brim with colorful candies. a soft serve machine that hums, its contents slowly spinning the frozen treat around to keep it from hardening. fountains of soda, a big refrigerator full of drinks, the twinkling of wind chimes that are disturbed by a slowly moving ceiling fan that just barely drags the tubes...

standing at the counter is someone who doesn't look the part of an ordinary employee. his eyes immediately lock onto the guest that has found his way to this store. his nose and mouth are covered by a dark-ish green scarf. they don't need to be shown--- he's smiling. it's in how the light in his eyes twinkle and the crinkles at the corners bend just like how his lips would be.

whoever this is... he's found a brief respite from the suffocating darkness. robin knows it, too. they've found each other. ]

Hello! Hi! Come in, come in... take a seat!

[ even if he's not speaking per se, his tone is as warm and inviting as he can possibly make it. they resonate with the environment, as if his voice could be heard in every little detail.

with his arms stretched and hands open, robin is happy to see a friend! even if it's not the friend he's been waiting for. ]

[demoon]

( What a stark contrast to the dark "reality" of the dream he was just drowning in. Somewhere, he's still vaguely aware of the shark beneath, of the water around them, of his own body wrapped in the coils of memory and warmth. Part of him wants to let go, to give in to this cutesy little candy shop and see where it takes him. The other resists tensely, reminding him of his actions, his sin, his situation. And isn't that always the case? Two opposing forces in his own mind, tearing him this way and that.

It's enough to make that bright and sunny smile ahead of him almost irritating in its brilliance. )

Nah. I'm busy.

( The words— no, they're more like thoughts— come out too quickly, stubborn and stuffy, like he has other things to do, places to be. Despite that, though, his feet take him further inside, the mixing sensation of water around his leg and his heel hitting solid floor causing waves of conflict inside of himself. A hand lifts, white gloved fingers tracing idly over the glass dome of a bubblegum container, and his eyes narrow a little, like he's trying to decipher a meaning. )

Just looking at this place is giving me cavities.

[sweetsong]

Busy? No one's ever busy enough to take a short break!

[ robin's laugh is polite and gentle with a touch of nervousness. even if he wrapped himself in the illusions of what he considers to be 'love', there's no doubting the dangers that await them if it drops. but if there were anyone better at putting themselves in an illusory world, he'd love to meet them and exchange some notes. ]

There are way worse things than cavities. Imagine if everything went left uneaten and not enjoyed?

[ the loneliest lollipops, the saddest starbursts... ]

Even I don't think I could eat all of these alone, so I'm glad I have someone else here to share with!

☾ 1. SHOW ME THOSE PRETTY WHITE JAWS

[lawofallthings]

[ Like meets like because she's not much of a talker either— at least under pressure. Feeling the weight of her own memory filaments starting to pull her under, Yuwei also reaches out on instinct when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Like a ripple or an echo, her own memories bubble up to the surface in response.

"The smiling face of a girl, all alone on a hill."

A girl all bright eyes and brighter smile with a guitar strapped to her back as she hums a tune almost unconsciously. She and a boy of similar age (with off-key harmony) burst into her room uninvited but never unwelcome.

"His own father's hand upon his head."

Her father's words of encouragement as she leapt across the snow, still barely tall enough to wrap her arms around his waist properly.

"Countless eyes looking up to him, watching him, following him."

Standing behind a podium, posture perfect and eyes forward as she addresses a crowd and the bright flashing lights of reporter cameras unafraid of the world.

The memories are stuttered and uncertain, flickering like a TV that needs tuning. But it's not out a desire to withhold, but more like flexing a muscle that Yuwei didn't even know she had. Her mouth rounds in a question, a single 'w' taking shape among the escaping bubbles. Is it who or why or how? Perhaps all-of-the-above for the slightly bewildered look upon her face. ]

[demoon]

( The memories feel familiar, feel distant, feel a little like her— and maybe that's what has him so stopped in his tracks. The water surrounding him now feels pressured, a squeeze that stops his breath as he watches flickering memories of someone he doesn't know. Their filaments intertwine, a strange dance of glowing warmth that tugs at Guren's awareness. In the water, he turns, and strangely, the coils of filaments turn with him, ribbons floating out and all but directing him to this near-yet-distant presence.

He's young, sitting on a hill with a girl his age, their statuses so clearly different in clothing, in mannerisms, in body language. There's the aching of his chest, the longing of something impossible, the flickering of them separated, of her being pulled away by the hand, of him being knocked down by something that cuts that memory off.

He slams that wall down like steel, eyes almost panicked in the way he tries to see who he's looking at. A woman? It feels like something about their memories, their dreams, are aligning— but it's a twist of vulnerability he doesn't want. One he resists just as much as he reaches for her, the ribbons of his tendrils arching around her in wide berth. )

Stay where you are.

( Words like thoughts make themselves clear in a murmur to her mind. He has the nerve to be commanding, to demand as much despite the way he'd angled himself towards her and proceeded forward as much as he has already. But he's analyzing, checking for threat. )

[lawofallthings]

[ It's the commanding tone that draws Yuwei out of her stupor. The confusion settles into something nonchalant, even aloof, even as their memories continue to tangle round and round to each other.

She sits in a lavish apartment, back to the front of the sofa and chin resting on her knees. The only light in the room is the blinding light of her phone, where bright colors dance to someone singing a uplifting song on stage. The crowd is cheering. She is not smiling.

New to the Murmur and this place, she has little chance of containing her own memories. (And how terrifying is that to have them on full display. To think that this world could pry this out of her as well). So she will do as she has always done— control that which is in her ability to influence. In this case, it seems to be just her physical body.

Yuwei holds up both hands, gold filaments wrapped around her wrist, in a gesture of peace but never surrender. Is he the enemy? Possibly, but unlikely. He seems... cornered. Just like she is. ]

I wouldn't know where to go anyway.