HIGHER ● MARCH 2026 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: HIGHER

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Prologue: New Characters

You sleep, and the dream returns— everyday, if you're amongst the living. Repeating as an endless limbo, if you find yourself amongst the fallen. It always begins the very same way: Silence so heavy it gnaws at your bones. A ripple moves through your nerves and shivers the flooding water pooling at your heels. A tide builds, familiar now. Black, soundless, thick like oil and starlight swelling across the horizon line you dream of.

You've seen the wave before, always rising higher than the last time you saw it. With every night, it never reaches you, but it gets close. You always seem to wake before it crashes . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave is fast tonight, like something predatory after quick-footed prey. When it finally crashes from the height of two skyscrapers stacked upon each other, you are being taken with saltwater that stings, and a suffocating pressure upon you that feels like your chest is caving, that something is choking you. As it pulls you into its depths, Sleep's voice is immediate and invasive, laced with palpable irritation and a demanding authority:

"You would leave Me? After all I have given? After all we have been through? Return, For Me Give Me everything."

In that harrowing moment, before you can scream or even object through the foam and endless ocean whirls, something profound is taken from you— a fleeting spark of your past self is your entry fee into Sleep's playground. You aren't granted ascent by her claim, given something forcefully wedged into your vitae and yanked into the deeper dreamscape by Her aggressive will.

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You Won't Begin Again

All Vessels awaken within a ceremonial city at the foot of an impossibly tall tower.

Stone keeps and vaulted bridges rise in medieval splendor, their silhouettes broken by glowing seams of sigil-light that run like circuitry through the masonry. Banners flag overhead like a welcoming hallway, embroidered with symbols that shift when not directly observed. Lanterns float without flame and faceless children guffaw past your legs. It seems a festival is in full bloom, loud and jubilant, yet the fun loving beats and strumming lutes carry a hollow echo, as if the seemingly lively village is rehearsing joy rather than truly feeling it.

As the dream settles, you may find yourself within a role, imposed based on what you are.

Offerings may notice they are suddenly clad in armor despite any bodily changes, now Cavaliers. Steel shapes itself to their bodies perfectly, colored and etched according to who they are as a person. Weapons rest easily in their hands, chosen without conscious thought and feeling right in their palms, be it the hilt of an axe, rapier, spear or so on. Their posture is straight, and service feels instinctive to them now. Obedience will hum warmly beneath their flesh, begging to be used, but their monstrous instinct lay intact, snarling under the metal and anxious, anticipating the chaos that's soon to come.

Tokens, on the other hand, rise as Nobles. Fine fabrics drape their forms while crowns, circlets, and cold jewels press against the throat, head and fingers that are designed as perfect conduits for their sorcery. Authority will radiate from them, subtle but undeniable. When they speak, many, especially Cavaliers, will be urged to listen intently from within the very marrow of their bones. They are strong, commanding beings, and their magic sparks hot at their fingertips— ready for what could possibly be waiting for them.

Each Cavalier is highly sensitive to finding and being sworn to a noble. Some bonds are chosen between a pair immediately, familiarity calling to them like loud sirens. Others may snap into place without your proper knowledge, toward strangers you might feel comfortable with despite only sharing eye contact. Or, perhaps you bond through sheer spite. A luminous bond stretches between them either way, tight as a drawn wire through the chest and alive with currents. Whoever you find, you are now Tethered.

Best prepare yourself. Find your weapon of choice, as well as your partner. Feast, if you'd like. The problem might only be that most of what is offered in festive food stalls are . . . Tadpoles? But you won't try to eat it, will you?

NOTES:

• Nightmares will accompany old and new vessels during the introductory prompt and during the collapse of the dream by the end of the event only. They will not be able to participate in the games themselves, but it will be their introduction to new vessels, and veteran vessels will be able to awaken during next month's event with their Nightmares final form, should they wish.

• The dream vessel NPCs all wear masks and will range from adult, to elderly to child. They will act as shadows of real people and will interact with characters only if prompted. There is something wrong with them though, they seem . . . Too happy, and are very bad at giving directions that don't sound like Sleep propoganda.

• A Cavalier may Tether to more than one Noble and vice-versa, given the nature of a dream and how time interacts with space. Many possibilities may happen at the same time.

• If you decide to eat a tadpole, you will get a random effect assigned by the Mod that may persist for however long you wish. Please comment to the proper top level for your effect.

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Capitulate And Let Me In

( Enforced hierarchy and obedience, psychological manipulation, invasive presence, sensory distortion, environmental horror, body horror, parasitic threat, implied loss of agency and self, forced loyalty, competitive paranoia, betrayal under pressure, dream-incineration, altered resurrection, implied and direct violence )

Eventually, the festival funnels inward, streets narrowing until they open into a colossal coliseum. At its center rises the tower, segmented into ascending levels that vanish into a sky of bruised violet and scarlet hues. The stands are packed with faceless dream-vessels, clapping and roaring in perfect unison.

Massive holograph-like images ignite around the arena, abruptly even. Sleep appears across them, crowned and queenlike and difficult to look upon without feeling like you're going a bit mad, vast and shadowed, her silhouette draped in ceremonial finery that moves as if alive. Free and at her side is the king, One, his crown tarnished, his posture broken, and a faint discord humming from him. Above them hangs a gilded cage, imprisoning the Espera, three songbird muses with torn wings. They look positively riled.

Sleep welcomes you through the Murmur.

"The games may now begin."

She demands loyalty made visible. Devotion proven through action. She looks down upon each and every Vessel at her misty feet and dusts the earth with a sweep of her pitch black wisps— and stops at two striking individuals, her six eyes narrowing until the glare lasers the distinct red glowing from them. At the arena's edge stand two masked anomalies: The numeral Two, dressed as a Noble yet watching the tower rather than Sleep. At his side, the numeral Three, a jester-knight whose bells chime softly, defiant by nature. Three is openly mocking and provoking Her by raising his arms behind his neck to stretch— while both middle fingers pop out of his fist. Two smacks the other's stomach to get his attention— pointing upward to the tower. His indifference bothers the diety most of all, and that very distaste reverberates through every Vessel to the point that the edge to her snarl is palpable. She smooths out, drags a claw down One's face, and commands, as if to show them all who this body belongs to:

"Sing from the heart, My Love."

And so, he begins to sing like an angel trapped in his own prison. The coliseum floor splits open to his harmony, and she bids you all the wealthiest of luck. Worship.

This is the first level of Sleep's proving ground. Pairs are cast upward into a vast, ever-shifting labyrinth woven of stone, light, gnarled flora and living sigils. Walls crawl and rearrange themselves. Floors slide, tilt, and dissolve. Gothic arches loom overhead, studded with crystalline lenses that track movement like watchful eyes. Your objective is an easy one: Reach the labyrinth's exit— presumably its flowered garden center, alive. Two and Three already break for it, calculating and determined, and it may be best you follow their lead.

It would be quite easy if there wasn't an eerie countdown that occassionally flashes cross your vision. What's worse— one of the colesium dungeons yawn wide open, and something slithers out.

It moves like a nightmare perfectly refined for pursuit. Sleek, towering, and insectile, its obsidian body reflects no light. A ridged skull stretches back without eyes, yet it sees everything. Acidic saliva hisses as it drips, eating into stone and armor alike. Its tail coils and lashes with deliberate cruelty. It crawls across walls, impossible gaps, and moves with predatory patience rather than haste. The Cleric has been released to hunt you for sport. If you haven't already— best make a run for it. The creature even gives you a torturous head start to allow her time to drool over your scents, your heartbeats, and your fear.

Scattered throughout the maze are sealed chests bound in iron and runes. Some contain relics, sigil-keys, or volatile artifacts capable of bending a single wall in the labyrinth, sealing passages, or accelerating movement. Others rupture into traps, releasing lesser horrors, creatures or environmental hazards that draw the creature closer.

The closer the countdown gets to zero, the more the walls begin to glow, and the temperature, elevate.

The entire level is preparing to be incinerated.

Reaching the labyrinth's center reveals a grand chamber that appears to be the exit. It is not. Those who work together, using their altered perceptions, may realize the true path upward lies elsewhere, hidden along the labyrinth's unstable outer seams.

Those who complete the goal and ascend rise higher within the tower, while those who fail are consumed by painful dreamfire— But they are not gone. They return on the next level, altered by Sleep's influence, their loyalty sharpened, their doubt dulled. Their presence becomes heavier in the Tether(s) they have, making cooperation more difficult, and trust more dangerous.

NOTES:

• A towering flower, its petals made of solidified light, shimmers through the cracks of the labryinth and wraps around its architecture. Touching it reveals it to be unnervingly soft, like velvet, but it leaves a tingling, almost painful residue on your skin. The air around it smells sweet and intoxicating, but breathing it in makes you feel strangely disoriented.
• As you listen closely to the haunting melody, you can almost hear a faint, struggling note buried deep within it— a desperate, familiar sound trying to break free. It's the echo of One, a faint, lost piece of sanity. Focusing on it briefly clarifies your thoughts, but also makes the beautiful melody feel grating and painful.
• The Cleric is based heavily on the Xenomorph, while the creatures hidden in negative chests are heavily based off of Hammerpedes.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• For the duration of the dream, Tokens will be able to see shades of scarlet with exaggerated clarity. In the labryinth, there will be small, scarlet arrows hidden in corners or under flora, that may signal the correct path.
• For an act of magical violence in Sleep's name, a Token's connection to the dreamscape intensifies. The light constructs and shimmering flora will work in their favor, creating a small, stable platform for themselves or a minor illusion to distract another Vessel. They will feel a rush of power and their own dream-magic will feel more direct and forceful.
• A Token who uses their magic for an act of bravery or protection will receive a blessing from the Numerals. They gain a moment of profound clarity, allowing them to see through the deceptive illusions of the tower. They may feel a hand on their shoulder, or the cackle of a cockatoo, or the quick stepping afterimage of a white fox leading the way to the true exit. They can perceive the true, broken nature of the collapsing level and can sense the most stable path forward for themselves and a nearby ally.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• For the duration of the event, Offerings will be able to see in ultraviolet. In the labryinth, there will be small, ultraviolet X marks hidden in corners or under flora that may signal danger or dead ends.
• For an act of physical violence in Sleep's name, a Monster's dream-form transforms to become more predatory and efficient. They might feel a surge of primal energy, their claws or teeth could extend, or their senses could sharpen, giving them an advantage in navigating the treacherous, shifting ground and engaging in conflict.
• An Offering who performs an act of bravery or kindness receives a blessing from the Numerals. Their predatory instincts are momentarily suppressed, replaced by a feeling of profound peace. Their dream-form may either feel momentarily less monstrous or pliant to their wants, and they may gain a fleeting sense of empathy or connection to another Vessel, which feels both comforting and deeply alien.

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'Cause I Am A Danger

( psychological manipulation, violence, religious corruption, moral inversion, enforced separation, sustained tether, self loss, time pressure, disorientation, coerced sacrifice, self harm )

Whether you win or lose, you are ripped from the last level without ceremony, unseen forces yanking you upward like a hooked spine. Your Tethers do not snap, nor loosen, but stretches so suddenly it steals the breath from your lungs. Whatever bound you to your partner still exists. You can feel it. A constant pull behind the ribs, a phantom pressure in the sternum, all tight enough to ache with longing.

Then you land.

Cold, endless corridores, spiral staircases twirling into themselves at angles that should never meet. Doors line the walls in obscene abundance, carved wood, iron, bone, and glass. The air is thin and metallic. One's song is gone. In its place, a frantic ringing invades your eardrums. Not a bell. A broken chime. Metallic, irregular, panicked. A countdown flashes across your vision, unasked for and impossible to ignore, one more time: Ten minutes.

Ten minutes before this level folds in on itself and grinds everything inside into memoryless ruin. It is only a dream. You know this. The thought does nothing to calm the way your heart kicks against your ribs anyway. Sleep does not speak. She does not need to. She instead, suggests the thought: Violence was too easy. Too honest. What she wants now is desecration. To see what goodness looks like when it is cornered. What devotion looks like when it costs something you were sure you would never give. And thus, you are all divided.

Some of you will awaken with a blade in your hand. It is wrong in every way that matters: Pale. Ethereal. Its surface ripples as if water has been touched. Holding it makes your tethers hum louder, sharper, like a nerve being plucked. In this case, you are a Seeker. Sleep knows hesitation cuts deeper when forced to act. An itch crawls up your spine. A hunger blooms that does not belong to you. The blade wants movement. Wants marking. Wants flesh. Somewhere in this second, closed maze is another Vessel, and you are being pulled toward them whether you wish it or not.

The rest of you wake unarmed. around your neck rests a key. Cold. Heavy. Incomplete. You are the Hiders. If you were once predators, you are now stripped of that comfort; Violence will not save you here. Before you stretches an upward spiral of corridors branching endlessly into doors. Hundreds. Thousands. Most are lies. Some will return you to the maze, while others will trap you. Only very few of them ascend to safety. Higher.

There is no fighting your way out; Only running, evading, and thinking.

Your tether drags at you constantly. You can feel your partner(s) somewhere in this place, distant but unmistakable. Fear bleeds across it. Urgency. Hunger. You do not know what role they have been given. You can only feel that they are moving.

Luckily, a voice cuts through the Murmur— Laughing, breathless. Bright with panic and delight all at once.

"Hey there, Noodles, long and short! Hahah—" Perhaps you know him, cackling and bright. He is running when he speaks, you can hear it in the way his voice bounces, in the way he cuts himself off mid sentence to swear. He is not above you. He is inside this with you. "Oh, this is good," he says, almost giddy. "Gods, this is good. Hide and Seek, my friends."

"Games are my thing. Keys," he adds, sharper now, no more preamble. "Not one. Two. I have one. Its wrong, I can feel it— You need a pair. Matching. You need the right person, not just the right door." His voice drops, just a little. "And I think . . . Some of you are hunting the ones you're bound to. Just— Fight back if you can. Don't take it personally if you can't. We can fuck Her up aaaaall we want after, yeah? I'll see you in the skies above."

The connection tightens painfully, and just as quick he is gone.

Seekers feel it spike when they draw close to anyone. The blade sings louder, eager, making no distinction between stranger and partner. Hiders feel the pull and mistake it for pursuit, terror flooding tethers in hot waves. Recognition becomes dangerous, and reunion may become worse, or infinitely better.

Those who find each other and bring the correct pair of keys together feel the tower shudder in reluctant approval. Stone grinds open. Light pours upward. Ascension to the next level follows. Those who fail are not spared— The corridors collapse inward when the timer hits zero, crushing memory and certainty alike. You are shunted forward regardless, marked once more for inaction or weakness. Something breaks in you this time. A name. A voice. A face that no longer feels like yours. Yet, the tether remains. It always will.

NOTES:

• The tether constantly transmits emotion rather than location. Fear, hunger, hesitation, relief. Misreading it is easy and often fatal.
• It is up to you whether you want your character to be a Hider or Seeker, but do note Sleep is more likely to target those who would have more difficulty being a Seeker than not. • Keys feel wrong when held alone. When the correct pair is brought close, they resonate painfully through the chest.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• If you are a Seeker, violence offered to Sleep in this level alters your casting. Your magic becomes invasive and intimate, blurring hallucination and pain. Illusions may leave lasting psychological scars. Mental bindings whisper guilt, fear, and belief into those caught within them. Her voice never fully leaves your spells afterward, not even in the Waking World.
• If you are a Hider, resisting the hunt calls the Numerals fully to your side. Their blessing manifests as a soundless barrier of radiant inversion, rendering you invisible to any Vessel influenced by Sleep for 60 seconds. You may pass through them untouched for a short time.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• If you are a Seeker, violence offered to Sleep stretches your form. Teeth lengthen. Blood shimmers like quicksilver. You gain scent tracking keyed to emotion: fear, hesitation, remorse, glowing through stone like veins. You may look more monstrous than ever before.
• If you are a Hider, resisting the hunt calls the Numerals to you. Your monstrous form stills, collapsing into statuesque silence. For a breath, you may phase through walls unseen. When your body returns, something in it is more human than before.

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The Debt That I Owe

( content warnings: dream manipulation, interpersonal violence, enforced rivalry, divine possession, emotional coercion, collapse imagery )

The tower opens at its crown and spills you into the highest place it possesses: a broken, hovering summit where stone hangs suspended in defiance of gravity and light bleeds upward into nothing. There is no sky. No horizon. Only height, pressure, and the sense that there is nowhere left to run.

Sleep waits at the center. She is vast here, coiled in shadow and brilliance, her presence compressing thought and breath alike. One is held upon a pyre above like an offering already half spent, his light unraveling into her in slow, shimmering strands. The Espera hang trapped and trembling, their voices reduced to a thin, strangled vibration in the air.

This is the summit, and what the tower was for. Sleep does not address you. She does not need to. The meaning settles into your chest fully formed: there will be no united stand. No singular enemy. What remains to be proven now is devotion, and devotion is always clearest when it is tested against someone else.

The ground shifts, lines burn into the stone beneath your feet as bonds are dragged into place. Tethers tighten, snapping nobles toward cavaliers, cavaliers toward nobles, sometimes to the ones you climbed beside, sometimes to strangers. Loyalty is not preserved and your history is not respected. The dream rearranges its pieces without the slightest apology.

"Don't give in, Three huffs within The Murmur, hushed and agile. "Just buy me and Two some time."

Once you are paired, you are then turned against each other. Armor hums, weapons manifest, magic stirs, sharp and unstable. You are meant to fight. The tether between you and your counterpart pulls hard enough to hurt, every movement echoed in the ribs, every intention felt like pressure beneath a sea of waves. Sleep does not ask you to reflect on what you owe— instead, She asks you to prove it.

You must pass through each other. Each tethered pair trapped within their own bubbles experience a shared vision— a personalized trial manifested from the debt that you owe. The dream uses your closeness like a wire, and lets the current burn. You may find yourselves:

Repay a Past Debt: You and your tethered partner are plunged into a distorted, dreamlike memory of a profound failure from your past. It's a moment you have tried to forget, a regret that has festered. The challenge is not to simply relive it, but to try and rewrite it, to make a different choice. However, the dream's reality is malleable, and the outcome may still feel like sand slipping through your fingers, leaving you to decide if your struggle is a final act of defiance or a futile attempt to change a history that is already written.

Demand a Payment: This trial manifests as a symbolic space between you and your partner. The dream-space represents a debt one of you owes the other as well, but in a different light, something taken without thanks, a betrayal, or a loyalty never reciprocated. To climb higher, you must demand a payment. Your choice is in how you collect: you can force them to face a painful truth, take a piece of them, or you can . . .

Embrace the Fury: The dream-within-a-dream becomes a surreal arena as a manifestation of pure conflict. You and your partner are pitted against each other, tethered by an inescapable chain of emotion and intention. This trial is meant to push you into a brutal battle for dominance, a physical expression of the "blood and the fury" that has brought you to this point. The victor is the one who forces the other into silence, but you must decide how you will fight: will you let the rage guide your hands, or will you try to find forgiveness and a peaceful resolution in a place where only violence is expected?

As the fighting spreads, something fractures at the edge of the dream—Two tears into the summit behind Sleep, his presence glitching, wrong, bleeding interference into the structure of her domain. He does not hesitate. He throws himself toward One, reaching for him with everything he has left. The moment One sees him, yells behind the bind muffling his voice . . . Sleep turns. Her strike is immediate, corrective. A backlash that sends Two crashing hard across the stone, light scattering from him in broken arcs. He does not rise. One panics, Sleep approaches—

Then laughter cuts through the collapse: Bright, breathless and unafraid. Three is already running when you notice him, all three tails flagging from fox to snow white wings, his voice ringing wild through the open space as fireworks detonate along the tower's spine. The Espera's cage shudders, chains tearing free as the summit begins to give way. She, they, flutter to the downed Numeral, and in a jolt from her touch, Two stirs—

As the tower starts to fall, Sleep's focus splinters. Her hold on One falters as the structure buckles inward, the dream tearing itself apart from the top down; Two releases One, signs something, and tackles him out from the tower's balcony with him. Wake up, Two's urgency chimes. Wake up, One.

As rubble collapses, as plumes of dust and gorgeous sparks of color pop off in every possible direction—

You wake.

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NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's TDM, which doubles as a gamewide event!
➤ This TDM is considered game canon.
➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options 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!
➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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You Won't Begin Again — Cavalier

[snaggletooth]

(NOTE: During the dream Ivan appears in human form, unless otherwise stated within a prompt/tag. )

[ Sleep has encased him in unfeeling armor. The metal suit is hewn of heavy, simple-yet-functional shapes, inelegant like his past. Scratches and old rust-dark bloodstains smother any gleam the silver might have had. It settles with a series of clanks with each step, though the human body trapped inside strives to keep his posture upright, serene.

Complicating things, a billowing cloak made of some common, heavy fabric drags behind him, the ends of it caked in dirt that does not look as though it will ever wash out. Sometimes, the children frolicking through the festival grounds stop to hide from one another in it, and he helps them by pulling one of the hems around them, as though the little laughing beings are real and his cheerful consideration for them is real. Simple play acting—until someone in the most beautiful outfit he's ever seen begins to walk his way.

An impulse so very, very strong dominates him and drives him to the ground on one knee. Something in the atmosphere continues to stress he should keep his head bowed deeply. From there, his eyes can only skirt the toes of the impressive stranger's shoes and the cobbles they stand on. There is mud in the street from too much revelry, spilt drinks.

His next equally, violently extraordinary impulse is to draw his sword and slice his cloak from himself. Snapping it through the air allows him to spread like a carpet, creating a safe pathway over the slurry that threatened to soil the nobility's feet. Then his hands return themselves to their proper positions amidst his kneel. ]

O' my Lord, I won't let anything in this world touch you.

( Not even dirt. )

[ What he was thinking about beforehand is too far away to grasp any longer, his head full of the being in front of him, all that they are. All of a sudden, there isn't any space left for who he's supposed to be. The only conclusion left to make is that he exists for them.

Bent, he awaits their wishes. ] I am at your service.

[trashblaze]

[ Hey, now. That's not good. At this point, Caelus, who is currently in this outfit, has realized something very strange is going on with all the friends wearing armor. Ivan must be affected, too. So, rather than being moved by the cavalier's subservient actions, the Trailblazer finds this awkward. Even beneath his raccoon mask, his concerned expression is evident.

Caelus doesn't want to be treated like this by his dear friends. He is not above any of them, wishing to walk alongside them as equals. That's why he moves unhesitantly, standing right beside Ivan to take his hand, and pull him right up without delay. ]

Get a hold of yourself, Ivan. We're friends, so you shouldn't be kneeling or throwing yourself in the dirt because of me. I'd rather you save that spirit for Till.

[ Ivan's speaking strangely, too. Caelus hopes the effects aren't too intense… Maybe he can still snap him out of this. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ Guided by the gentle pull, Ivan's steel plate-beleagured body answers, creaking back to an upright position, where it proceeds to stand statuesquely. He hasn't yet been told what else to do. Therefore, his intent now is to listen. Though the moment his master speaks, he seems unhappy, spurring his head to start to dip in apology.

"I'd rather you save that spirit for Till."

The words permiss him to remember that name. The red centers of Ivan's eyes draw away from Caelus for the first time since spotting him, straying to the teeming mass of so many masked people in strange clothing, if only for a few seconds. Suddenly he thinks of running into it, calling out that name he's just heard. It's scary how strong the urge is all of a sudden. His feet won't move, however, and that's almost more frightening.

All he can do is return his attention to the reason he was rooted to the spot in the first place. Burying his gaze in his silver hair, he feels himself calm. But the blip in reality remains. ]

Haha, okay. No more doing anything else that extreme unless you say so!

[ Effortlessly cheery, as usual. ]

Where would you like to be escorted first, my liege?

[trashblaze]

[ Oh, Caelus caught that— the way that Ivan desperately glanced at the crowd, perhaps in hopes of finding Till among the sea of faces. Maybe it really is working! Ignoring whatever effect Ivan may be experiencing, Caelus instead hyperfocuses on chasing the man's true desires. He wants to encourage him to act on those desires rather than listen to the strange urges that are not his own. ]

I'd like to find Till. Let's walk around together until we find him. When we do, you should go with him instead. All right?

[ Since Ivan is a taken man, Caelus avoids unnecessary skin contact. He would've offered his hand otherwise. He only did so just now to help him up, and that's done, so he lets go and puts a respectable distance between them. But still close enough not to be a stranger, as after all, they're good friends by now. ]

But, hey, we can have a bit of fun on the way!

[ There's a lot of interesting stalls around them! It would be a waste to ignore it all. ]

Also, don't call me that. Just say Caelus, like you always do.

[snaggletooth]

Understood, Caelus, sir.

[ He repeats, obediently. ]

It's my honor to accompany you in the meantime.

[ Find Till, Caelus has commanded it.

No objection to anything that was suggested would have nor could have come out of his mouth, but to hear that lessens an unexplained ache in his heart, filling him with a relief he can't express.

Next, he reaches out to tug on thin air, except a leather rein manifests exactly where it wasn't a second ago, then the entire body of the tall, broad Nightmare attached to it shimmers into being. At attention, Ivan stands next to the saddled creature, gesturing for Caelus to climb on, because a servant knows that a lord would prefer to be a head above the rabble. ]

There were some sports-matches being held near the castle wall... though I didn't see any bases or balls, just big sticks. "Jousting," I heard. Perhaps that would still please you?

[trashblaze]

[ Is it rude that Caelus is imagining Ivan like a cute dog right now? Obedient, eager to please, and probably excited. It's easy to imagine a fluffy tail wagging behind the other young man. The Trailblazer has to resist laughing. ]

Don't be so formal. How are we supposed to have fun?

[ It's nice to witness Ivan's expression lightening, though. Caelus feels he's on the right track about this. If he can continue to relieve his friends of their burdens, he'll gladly do so anytime.

When Ivan summons his Nightmare, Caelus directs his next smile to the creature. It's his first time meeting Ivan's misty friend, after all. Since this is the dreamscape, it means Caelus has access to his full abilities, including his talent to communicate with creatures. He speaks to the Nightmare directly; his words should be fully coherent to the critter and vice versa. ]

Hi! What's your name?

[ Afterward, Caelus looks over to Ivan again to respond to him next. Aw, it's adorable how Ivan remembered his fondness for sports. When told to climb on, he does so. But he expects his friend to follow after. He's going to insist if he's the only one on the Nightmare. ]

I'd love to go check it out! Let's go!

[snaggletooth]

So I shouldn't call you "sir" either?

[ "Meun-ji"

The nightmare supplies with a short, eerie whinny, though Caelus will understand that this was said with the same soft, polite tone of voice that Ivan uses. Perhaps this creature could use a talking-to about too much formality as well?

Naturally, yes, once it's his turn to do so, Ivan steps up into the saddle as well. His motions are fluid as he settles onto the horse-shaped creature, despite him never-ever having done so even once before, as though the muscle memory was buried in his brain all along. He's both surprised and not so surprised at all, what with all the strange things happening around them even as they speak.

His hands grip the reins, just as suddenly understanding their purpose. Though, before he uses them, he'll glance over his shoulder to ensure all is well! ]

Hold my waist if you need to, okay? Anywhere else, and my armor might pinch you, haha.

[trashblaze]

None of that! You and everyone have always called me simply "Caelus," so let's not suddenly change it, okay?

[ Meun-ji, though…! What a cute name. It sounds soft: the squishable variant. Caelus giggles as he repeats the name, making sure to remember it from now on. ]

Meun-ji! Nice to meet you. Thank you for letting me ride on.

[ And once Ivan makes himself comfortable next, Caelus gives an enthusiastic nod to let him know that he's got this. He's always been good at adapting to anything. ]

Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself. Just focus on what you need to do.

[ With that said, Caelus secures his arms around Ivan's waist in a polite manner. He doesn't do it rigidly, only enough to make sure he won't lose grip and remain balanced on the Nightmare. ]

[merged]

[ Sharon has seen Ivan around the city more than once, though they've never really spoken. She recognizes him easily enough, even now, his form human in outline beneath the armor he wears. When he notices her, he moves quickly, dropping to one knee with such sudden formality that she instinctively steps back, her stomach tightening at the gesture.

Without hesitation, he cuts a piece from his cloak and spreads it across the ground before her, a silent effort to shield her from the dirt beneath. A small, conflicted feeling stirs in her. Part of her resents the treatment. Another, deeper and more uncomfortable part feels an odd, familiar acceptance of it—as though this were the position she had always been meant to occupy. ]

Rise, Ivan. [ Voice warm but carrying the weight of command. ] You don't need to do that for me. I don't mind a little dirt.

[ Her gown is already trimmed to mid-calf length in places, torn in others, and her feet are bare. The large, ornate platform shoes she had been given are held loosely in one hand. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ Why, of course.

His sinews serve her wishes, settling him back on his feet.

Still, he awaits to be told his next task. Still, he keeps his eyes low, as though unworthy of directly beholding her. Though, even now he can see now that something's amiss, as his falling gaze catches the tattered ends of her skirt. It looks terrible, though good manners prevent him from saying so aloud, so as not to upset his master with what might sound like an insult. ]

Oh, my! What happened to you?

[ Lightly aghast, unaware that she's done it to herself—just how could someone tear up his fair lady's cloths and get away with it? He's a poor servant if he simply lets that stand. ]

If you tell me who did it, I'll teach them a lesson, okay? [ May they be cast into the darkest dungeon... ] And then I'll turn them in. Justice, my lady.

[merged]

[ Sharon knows Ivan is only saying this because of the role—but she likes it. It's satisfying. ]

You're gonna teach me a lesson? [ There's a teasing lift to her voice, and a moment later she lets out a laugh, reaching over to give his shoulder a light slap. ] I did it myself—what, you don't appreciate my alterations? I thought they were pretty smart, considering we're probably going to end up running for our lives at some point.

[ Every dream so far has ended in chaos one way or another, and the last two were especially brutal. She gives the shortened hem a small tug. ] I'm not about to let some stuffy gown be the reason I die again.

[snaggletooth]

Ah-

[ How was he meant to know it was her, when in the middle of such a rough-looking crowd? He gives a laugh only once she does, his obligate smile splitting into a wider grin of sorts. ]

What matters is that you're okay with looking like that, haha! [ . . .

Thus far there's always been some sort of grace period before things begin to fall apart, though that's not a reason to trust in the pattern. Sleep's whims seem to be as esoteric as her way of speaking... which is to say Sharon has forethought when it comes to incomprehensible beings! ] Well, with those being your concerns, I have another suggestion:

Let's find you a weapon before we have to find out what's in that big, intimidating tower?

[ He's only been instilled with excessive obedience, not an outdated idea of who should hold a sword. ]

[merged]

I have literally never given a single shit about how anyone else sees me, Ivan. [ The blunt honesty comes easy to her, as it always has. Sharon doesn't soften her thoughts or dress them up—she just says them and lets the fallout land where it will. When you grow up being othered for something you never chose, eventually you stop trying to fit and start wearing it like armor instead.

His offer, though, catches her off guard. She pauses, then gives a small nod. ] That actually sounds like a solid plan. I've got magic, but I've never liked depending on it. [ Not the kind forced into her by Sleep, and not the power she was born carrying.

She glances around, picks a direction, and gestures for him to walk with her. As they move, her gaze flicks over him, assessing. ] So how does it feel? Being like this again. [ A beat. ] Human, I mean. [ After the months he's spent as an insectoid, it has to be strange. ]

[snaggletooth]

[ Huh!

Ivan envies her attitude; he can already tell she's similar to Till, in that way. She does what she wants to without concerning herself with the consequences. Meanwhile, here he is, not able to bring himself to speak slightly out of turn. He blinks a few times when she confirms that not only does she know his name, she remembers his... predicament back in the waking world.

Then again, how could anyone ever forget something so hideous. ]

Ah, I worry sometimes that I'll forget how to walk on two legs. If we ever stop having these dreams, then I probably will...

[ Still smiling vaguely, he looks down on his feet, stretching them one at a time to the best of his ability in his sollerets. He should just be grateful, regardless of whether he has two legs or two dozen. He wouldn't have any at all if he hadn't been brought back to life.

Hmmm.

Maybe he should just say something to make light of it now? ]

We'll see if I have two left feet yet, if there's dancing in this one.

[merged]

Who needs two legs when you've got—fuck, I don't even know how many you've got in Manhattan. I just know you're a fast motherfucker. [ The first time she'd seen him there, her heart had lurched, terror rising, but it hadn't taken long to realize most Offerings stop looking human after a while. Ivan, at least, had something going for him; he looked downright badass in that form. Not something she could say for everyone.

She tilts her head slightly, studying him. ] Does it bother you? How different you've become?

[snaggletooth]

[ She even swears like Till, haha. ]

Forty-two, last I checked! [ —he has just enough time to chirp before he's asked another question about himself. It leads to a pause, as he looks at her and then looks around. The festival still buzzes rowdily on all sides, building up to something unknown. Why focus on him, the least important thing in this scene?

Something quick, placating, is what he intends to offer up, so that they can move on to the next topic. Except—said pause continues to lengthen and lengthen, and at this point could be called a full stop.

His lips won't let him lie, pressing together to prevent him from forming the first syllable. ]

[ Something else spills out, ultimately. ]

I've always felt like I was different... now, that form is proof. I'm surprised you can all stomach me, when it's so obvious I'm nothing like you.

[merged]

[ Sharon's brows lift, surprise plain on her face. Forty-two legs! Ivan is built to pick through the bones of a dead city in a way she can't as a Token. Still, she isn't jealous. She's lost her body before, more than once. All she really wants is to stay herself.

The silence lingers long enough that she thinks he might not answer at all, but when he does, the truth in it lands heavy—familiar enough to make something in her chest tighten. ]

That form? The only thing it proves is how much influence Sleep has had on your body. [ She exhales, bracing herself before pushing forward, honesty coming a little sharper than usual. ] And it's not like you're hideous. You're... [ She hesitates, then commits. ] You're kind of beautiful like that. If it reflects you, then it's showing strength. A hard shell. Like you're someone who doesn't break easily.

[ There's power in it, something sold and untouchable. Not the kind of form anyone with sense would ever try to challenge. And, whether she says it outright or not, Sharon admires it, and that burns through their fresh connection. ]

[fmaj]

[On any other day, Johnny would love to stand out from the crowd. But he knows there are some moments that are best served with keeping a lower profile. There are two contributing factors to his decision here: one, that he's lost, both physically (where am I) and conceptually (what am I doing here), and two, this stock-portfolio suit getup is not what he wants to be standing out with. He's dressed it down as much as he can, buttons undone and shirt untucked, leaving a vertical strip of exposed skin down his front instead of a tie. If it were entirely up to him, it wouldn't be enough, but for now it's enough to prevent him from breaking out in hives.

He was trying to move with the throng and had been doing pretty well in collecting context clues without having to shake anyone down for any information, but the plan gets swiftly derailed when some stranger prostrates before him without warning. He first catches it out of his peripheral vision, and out of reflex, he moves to try to catch the stranger -- but his reach isn't nearly as long as he's gotten used to, so he imparts no actual change on what follows and is simply helpless to just...watch it happen.

So does a small select few people, stopping in their tracks to do so.

Johnny stares in dumbfounded silence, even after Ivan says his piece. It takes him a second to figure out what to even say, expression unreadable past his sunglasses.]

That is...the most pathetic groupie-grovelling I've ever seen. And trust me, the bar is so high. But points for being... [He waves a hand and delivers the next word with no small amount of disdain. Dude, you're blowing his cover.] ...unique.

[And despite the venom in his word choice, he bends down and extends a hand for Ivan to take to help him up.]

Come on, man, get up before you embarrass both of us. And if you say any shit like, "oh my god, he touched my hand," I'm throwing you right back down there.

[snaggletooth]

[ "Pathetic."

Ah.

The muscles of his face don't even so much as twitch, maintaining a flawless stepford smile. Behind that plastic emotion, though, he's a bit startled to hear someone point out something he's always known about himself so openly. There's a rule he had trouble learning when he was little, yet knows well now: there are things that shouldn't be said to another person's face, even if they're self-evident.

He stands, of course. "Get up" is an order, which his own role here won't allow him to disobey. And as he wonders where the conversation could possibly go after such a start, a sharpness settles into his eyes.

He's not mad at the man, oh no.

People who can act out however they want are worth paying some attention to; just how do they accomplish it? ]

Embarrass us? [ Ivan takes note of his surroundings for the first time since making a scene, of the myriad renaissance men and women with their heads turned their way, as if the whole rest of this imaginary world is on pause. ] Oh, because we're being watched? Maybe it looks that way, ahaha, but the truth is most of these people aren't even real.

[ Which is a super normal segue into: ]

If you would... please tell me what about my performance was wrong, and I can correct it!

[fmaj]

[Johnny stands back up. Through tinted lenses he lingers on the sharpened edges of Ivan's expression. Unusual response. A cloying plead for forgiveness, or an equally forceful bark to back off. Neither of those are...whatever this is.

Ivan brings Johnny's attention to their witnesses. He brings his right hand up to his mouth, out of habit, but there's nothing between his fingers. For lack of anything better, he starts chewing on his thumb's nail instead, without realizing it.

These people aren't even real.

He starts questioning himself for what feels like the tenth time since he came to. He's out of ideas to make sense of this.

And then Ivan is asking him for feedback.]

Oh, nnh--

[Hard to talk around his thumb. Wait. When did that get there. He lowers his hand and shakes it out.]

No. No, we're not just breezing over that. What do you mean, not real?

[snaggletooth]

[ Ivan finds that a fair question. Critique can wait; it's fine. ]

Take a close look at them, don't their faces seem... fuzzy? [ They all wear masks, so maybe that's easier said than done, but their eyes still show through the holes, devoid of any sparkle. A few of them have half-masks that leave their mouths out in the open air, which maybe don't move quite right. And if you tried to describe any of them despite them standing mere feet away... you couldn't, could you?

Because once you really, really look, nothing stands out.

Because they're like what happens when you try to remember the face of someone you've forgotten, or maybe of someone who never existed in the first place. ]

Oh, I know—if you still don't see it, try talking to one of them.

[fmaj]

Can't say I've had the chance to fucking notice.

[On account of the. Masks. And he just plain hasn't found himself in the context of trying to make eye contact.

Goaded by Ivan's suggestion, Johnny steps forward to close the distance between himself and the villagers, essentially taking up the only space left between them and Ivan. In the process of doing so, all of them turn their heads, like turrets tracking Johnny's position.

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Not out of fear, necessarily, but a response to something so unnatural coming from something perceptively organic...at least from a distance. He levels a stare through the mask of the one directly in front of him and finds a set of eyes staring right through him.

Johnny lifts a hand directly in front of the villager and presses a thumb and forefinger together. Snap snap snap. No response, not even a reflexive blink.

A beat.

Johnny pulls his hand back, holds it over his shoulder, and backhands the guy. Or, rather, he attempts to -- his hand slices right through the figure, their form spiraling into the air like smoke left by a machine that someone left on high for too long. The swing is wide enough to take out the one next to them, and they dissolve in similar fashion. There was more than enough genuine momentum in the attempt to land a strike on something solid that Johnny stumbles inelegantly backwards into Ivan.]

O-kay, think I'm all set. No more questions.

[Other than the obvious one, "what the fuck", but that one asks itself.

He's completely forgotten Ivan's request.]

[snaggletooth]

[ The dream denizens cleverly avoid assault by ceasing to exist.

That this can happen is new information even to Ivan, who has just been assured he's right to have a certain... respect for those who rebel. Look at what can be learned so simply through misbehavior! He doesn't think there'll be any more doubts about the nature of the crowd now, and the man's next words confirm about as much.

Ivan's gauntlets have leather padding on the palm sides, which have have been holding Johnny gently around the upper arms since he stumbled, having prevented a harder impact with the rest of his armor plating. With how easily he halted his momentum, he must've been watching his every move in case this exact thing happened. ]

Not one?

[ He still hasn't let go, not that it seems nefarious... just odd, like he isn't aware that it's just that: odd. ]

You're sure you have all the information you need? [ After what they've both just witnessed, maybe this sounds skeptical. ] Mm, I'll answer the question that gets asked the most anyway: it's a dream. But if you can think of others, I'm here to help.

[fmaj]

Thanks, I already put that together. [Technically. It was the front-running theory among others.

Johnny doesn't seem to be perturbed by the touch. He leans forward to disengage, and that's that. They're still being observed, and that is far more upsetting. There's a beat before Johnny waves them away with an aggressive shooing motion. And they leave! Just like that! No muss, no fuss, no tears shed for the wisps of their fellow man.]

Just--assumed everyone else here was [how else could one put it other than] ...like us.

[Hell freezes over in real time as a rock star doesn't consider the world revolving around him for once.

He turns to look at Ivan.]

Wouldn't know what to ask. Unless you want to field somethin' more esoteric, like... [He waves his hands outwardly.] why?

[snaggletooth]

Why what?

[ Ivan folds his hands neatly near his waist until they're needed again. ]

Unless I'm supposed to guess again? Let's see, what is the ultimate why of this situation? I think the most succinct answer is that something wanted you here and wanted this to happen to you. I'm not just saying that either, haha.

There really is a big, powerful being behind all of this.