EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne

DESCENT

Nearly two weeks after being dragged from shrine caverns, you hear along the grapevine that the "the throne room is complete." It doesn't take long to figure out what that means; the ritual grounds that you have been hearing mention of are finally prepared, and it's only a short while before you are once again being gathered together for travel. As a small mercy, at least this time the journey is short.

Through a passage that has been blocked by a gathering of soldiers for the entire length of your stay, a stairway is revealed to you. It leads deep into the ruins, through unfamiliar structures and into the bowels of the earth. Though your feel your are mostly going downward, the walk is still long on account of how many stairs their are, and the soldiers escorting you are restless. They are now being led by the stray, mask wearing Achamites that have been accompanying the group till now, silently observing. Whatever place this is, it seems that they now hold court.

Funneled into the chambers below, you are greeted by a massive, domed enclosure of stone. Positioned around its circular radius are twelve thrones in various states of disrepair, sized as if meant to seat giants. The backs of these thrones all differ slightly in design, though most have great cleaves of stone broken loose from their architecture, as if subjected to some great cataclysm. Each is engraved with a sigil, though some have been obscured by the destruction wrought. The throne closest to the entrance has been almost entirely demolished, making it impossible to glean much about.

The dome's ceiling appears to be hundreds of feet tall at its apex, its smooth surface disrupted by stalactites that puncture through its form like teeth. As a result, many chunks of the original structure seem to have cracked and collapsed in to the floor below. When examined closely, these fragments of the domed ceiling seem to be made of a material strangely reflective in quality, though caked in many years of dirt and grime. If large enough sections are cleaned, patterns may emerge, revealing designs that look almost like star maps. The floor beneath your feet as a similar, but subtly different quality, covered in wreckage and ruin but can be cleaned to reveal complex patterns of intersecting lines.

A careful eye will indicate that these lines all lead towards the center of the room - the one space that has been cleared and scrubbed prior to your arrival. Here, the lines converge, with carefully preserved marking in the stone that bely increasing levels of runic complexity the closer you look. This is where the ritual will be held, you are told.

THE RITUAL

There is not much time to regain your bearings before you are being shuffled forth towards the ritual space; no, all the waiting has already been done. Under the command of the smaller group of Achamites, the Hylicians will make heavy use of the whips in leading everyone to their places along the rune-inscribed circle. Before that, however, small cuts will be made to each prisoner with an athame, either on their hand or arm. With a sharp, burning sensation in the afflicted skin, these cuts will spread into wounds reflecting the image of one of the eleven sigils displayed on the thrones encircling the group, and matching the shrine they were originally pulled from.

With this accomplished, they can finally be taken into the circle. With a design comprised of four triangles overlapping, the design of an open eye carved at its center, all prisoners will be led to separates points on its design where the lines cross. Seemingly arranged by their shrine sigil to be closest to whatever throne represents them, they will be brought to their designated positions one by one. Any attempts to flee or disrupt the process will be dealt with swiftly and harshly, exacerbated by the increasing levels of paranoia and fear in the soldiers themselves. Whatever is being done here, they don't seem happy to involved with it either.

When everyone is in place, the seeming master of ceremonies will finally emerge. A dark haired woman will appear from the shadows, motes of golden light fluttering about her otherwise darkness-clad visage. Moving towards the center of the circle, she will stand over the marking of the eye and begin working her magicks. As if on cue, the soldiers will withdraw any remaining whips and scurry to the outside of the circle, only for new bonds of ethereal energy to lash out of the ritual circle itself, binding each and every prisoner and dragging them down to their knees. Among the soldiers, you can hear mutterings identifying this woman as "the Aion."

"Come," she says to the coterie of robed Achamites, who will approach the circle with an assortment of vials collected into cases. There is enough for each prisoner to be given a drink, and so they will; a vial of abyssal liquid will be forced into each one of your throats, no matter how uncomfortably it must be done. While no less ruthless, the Achamites have a different way about them as they work, forcing themselves upon you with a strange familiarity that feels more akin to a mother forcing their child to take medicine than the suspicious hostility of the soldiers. As the foul liquid touches your tongue, it takes on a consistency almost like a living thing, crawling down your throat even if you refuse to swallow, all while the Achamites stroke your hair and make saccharine assurances.

Once all the prisoners have been fed their vial, the Achamamites too will retreat from the circle - all except for one. Joining 'the Aion' at the center, the two of them will begin enacting a planned ceremony of sorts, that culminates in the following scene:

The Achamite kneels before the Aion, lifting their masked face to meet their dark gaze. They speak, in practiced tones.

"To the Kenoma my body, to the Kenoma my soul."

In response, the Aion holds the Achamite's face between their hands in almost a loving gesture. She speaks softly:

"By the blood of the Martyr, I accept your sacrifice."

From the Aion's hands a darkness spreads across the Achamite's body, as if they are melting and dissolving on a cellular level. She kneels along with them, cradling them as their body breaks down, pooling in a void-black liquid around their knees. It drains into the lines of the ritual circle, surging out towards the prisoners.

Within moments, the ritual is complete.

KENOMA SICKNESS

As this dark power surges throughout the ritual circle, you will find yourself almost consumed by the tide. Whatever foul creation you were forced to swallow wakes within your chest, and you can feel it move within your veins, inside you lungs, behind your eyes. As quickly as it begins, the flood of darkness washes over you, but not without leaving you stained.

Something has changed in its wake. As you return to your senses, you will notice the magical bonds of the circle have fallen away, leaving you free to move; for once, the soldiers will not move to lead or restrain you. Instead, the Hylicians warily back away from the ritual space, retreating towards the only path upwards, where they form a defensive line. The Achamites that linger make a series of ritual gestures, praying in voices too soft to hear. The Aion woman stands in the center, her hands blackened with residue from the person you just watched fall to pieces in her arms.

"You will be given time to find your truth," she says. "Use it well."

As you recover from the experience enough to stand, she and her Achamite entourage are already retreating to join the Hylician guard. Gradually, your situation will become clear: they intend to keep your trapped down here. However, it will not be the same as when you waited before. Instead, the soldiers simply intend to block your only exit out, and otherwise leave you free to roam the full diameter of the throne room, seemingly free to do whatever you want as long as it isn't trying to break free of the cavern's confines. Each day, they will offer to their prisoners a limit supply of food, water, and firewood, but nothing more. Beyond that, you only have your increasingly dirty white robes and the same bedrolls as before.

❖ COMMUNION
The first change you will experience is an itching darkness in your mind, like a psychic wound that is becoming infected. The sort of thoughts you would normally try to force down become increasingly hard to resist; despair, hatred, and fear will plague you, and requiring great feats of will to silence even temporarily. Phantoms of the things you'd rather forget will become a constant companion, all while a presence seems to whisper: when you accept your fate, the pain will stop.

Worse than this, the darkness of your mind may not remain private. As if awakened by the ritual, your empathetic sense has become impossibly strong, to the point that you feel the broadcasted emotions and thoughts of others, and in turn, your darkest thoughts will be psychically projected to others with a volume proportional to the intensity with which you feel them. This effect is most potent between those sharing Legacy, with the capacity for their identities to become momentarily confused. In all cases, this connection may bleed into your dreams, or manifest as hallucinations.

❖ TRANSFORMATION
Yet, your mind is not the only thing that ails. In proportion to the strength of your emotions, your body may begin changing to match your state of mind. Physical transformations akin to those mentioned here will begin to manifest, themed to your inner suffering and the most negative aspects of your self conception. These alterations may shift from moment to moment, depending on the turbulence of your emotional state. They may or may not be painful.

❖ AFFLICTION
Along with the above effects, characters may also experience various more mundane ailments; essentially anything traditionally associated with illness could fit. Weakness, nausea, body aches, and chills are all common options. Along with this, void-black ooze may start to trickle from virtually any orifice. While it may stain clothing and skin, the material itself will dissipate after a few minutes in a manner reminiscent of ectoplasm. This effect may also appear around your Shard, as if the stone itself has begun to bleed.

RESISTANCE

Even as the Kenoma threatens to overwhelm you, you still have the power to fight. Though it may be a grueling war of attrition, you can force back its advances with sufficient will to survive and resist the darkness. Of course, your captors are not going to make this easy for you. Those that fight hard enough to expel the Kenoma from their bodies and spirits will take at least a week to do so, and for that duration they will be trapped within this chilly cavern, haunted by their worst thoughts and emotions.

The bedrolls barely strand up against the cold, your clothing doesn't at all, and to be comfortable you'll require fire. Yet, there is a limited amount provided to you, along with food and water, and the soldiers do not seem to be making any effort to distribute it evenly. Achieving basic warmth and sustenance may become a battle against your fellow inmates, all while you struggle against the enemy infecting your body. Cracks in the dome of the cavern lead into some smaller caverns and crevasses in the stone that can offer some privacy or protection, but the more splintered the group becomes the less the supplies will hold up. Fortunately for you, neither the cold nor starvation will kill you, but it will make you suffer.

Yet, you may still persevere. As you fight back the Kenoma, something else will be cultivated in its place. Bit by bit, a comforting and warm presence will grow within you, gradually disrupting the maladies afflicting your body and mind. Your faith and perseverance has been rewarded with an attunement to the Pleroma, the Kenoma's cosmological opposite; given enough time, the Kenoma will be forced from your being entirely, in the form of void-black sludge. Only then will your power begin to shine through, the abilities of your past life slowly returning.

You must keep your guard. With or without otherworldly power, escape will be a struggle.

ACCEPTANCE

Or, you may choose the easy option. Maybe the Kenoma resonates with your history and emotions in a way that makes it seem like it isn't the enemy. Maybe the depths of your despair are too deep to escape. Maybe your simply lack the strength to fight. Whatever the reason, sooner or later, the Kenoma claims you. The more you let it in, the less it feels like a poison and the more it feels like strength. The darkness settles comfortably into the cracks and holes of your spirit, and you awaken to its power. You feel the change viscerally.

This world is not good enough, a voice seems to speak through the Kenoma. This suffering you feel, the cruelty that has birthed this darkness in you... it is simply the rot that is consuming this existence. A better universe awaits, one forged by your own hand, and all you need do is first bring about this broken reality's end.

Whatever effects you were suffering from the Kenoma's presence will fade away, and in its place, you will feel your endurance bolstered. The clarity is stark in comparison to the mire you were trapped in before. As the other prisoners suffer around you, the Aion woman from before and an accompaniment of a couple Hylician soldiers will approach you among the ruins, as if summoned straight to your location. She looks you over, her dark eyes impassive, and then asks:

"Did you feel it?"

She doesn't actually wait for an answer, your expression alone enough to assure her. She'll tell the soldiers that you are free to go, and that you are to be given a share of their food and a change of clothes. She'll escort you out of cavern and towards the upper ruins, where the soldiers and Achamites have set up camp. This feels natural to you, somehow, like you and her are on the same wavelength in a way that is hard to comprehend. She is like you, you sense. That dark power is within her as well.

She doesn't linger with you for long, but she will see that you are on your way before heading back to the caverns. She'll say that the voice you heard, that promise, was the Regent, the ruler of this land. They spoke of a power that could birth a new, better universe, and they weren't misleading you. It's within their reach, closer than ever, and if you help them achieve it you will be rewarded lavishly. For now, you are free to regain your strength while the others make their choices. She only asks that you stay in the area and be ready to join the Regent in Achamoth when all is prepared.

If you're prone to boredom, though, she will mention that you'd really be doing the prisoners a favor by convincing them to accept the Kenoma like you did. You could convince them with words, or by making their situations so unbearable they won't have a choice but to break. However you'd like. It won't be worse than what's coming for them if they carry on this way.

When she parts ways with you, you are left to your own devices. Somehow, you feel inclined to cooperate. After all, the Regent did have a point.

QUESTIONS

Are the involuntary transformations during the Kenoma sickness period temporary afflictions or permanent ones?
By default they are temporary, but characters can also keep a couple keepsake changes if you'd like! An Aion's physical appearance is something that is generally in flux, and so even if you keep something from this event, you can always alter it later.

What kind of supplies are going to be distributed to those who accept Kenoma and leave the caverns?
They'll be given food, water, and clothing. They'll be given more/better rations than they were as prisoners, but it's still the sort of food that is limited by the fact that they are out here on a mission. The soldiers will have some fresh meat from prey they've been hunting in the forest, and will generally be having a lot of stew-based food going. There are actual spices in it, though, so that's cool. This is all set up where the Hylicians are camping.

As for clothes, they will get a fresh set (including boots or shoes) and some soap to clean themselves up in the nearby creeks and ponds. Hylici has an aesthetic that leans towards ancient Greek/Roman, so while they won't have anything fancy with them, you are free to assume they are able to acquire anything in that general ballpark. They do also have pants, though. While it is now spring and Horos has a generally temperate climate, it can be chilly at night.

Will Pleroma attuned be able to escape once they've regained their powers?
Yes, they will be allowed to escape at that point, and a second log will be going up to cover that part of the event. This log should generally cover up until shortly after Pleroma start ejecting the Kenoma's influence. Characters are permitted to escape by their own power if they somehow devise a plan to do so, but as we know the Pleromas are at a significant disadvantage in this situation, some characters who have fought against the Kenoma particularly valiantly will be given some magical assistance to help the survivors escape.

Will the Kenomas be able to try to stop them?
Yes! The second log will be set up to contain some PVP, though given the Pleromas do need to escape, we ask that you play nice. There will be a battle, but it will be structured in the context of the Pleromas having to hold off the Kenomas long enough to escape, so it will be relatively brief.

Can we speak to "the Aion"?
Yes, she will be around for the full length of the event. All characters will have the chance to find her watching over the group whether they are Kenomas or soon to be Pleromas. She will not be that talkative, though, so anyone tagging her will have to lead the conversation. She will not make small talk. Martyrs will recognize her as one of them.

Comments

Matt Jamison | Visionary | OTA (cw: assault discussions, likely some body horror)

[semicharmed]

ritual
[ It's not that Matt doesn't care about the person who's disintegrated. He cares, it's awful, even if they seemed to want it. But that concern pales next to his immediate, physical reality: They put something in me.

He can feel it in him now–penetrating his lungs, thrumming like a second heartbeat. Shaping the shadows behind his eyes. It feels like the photo negative of the way breath and spirit move through him when he's casting a spell. God, if he could just cast a spell, any spell, he could feel like he was doing something, like he was connected to something. He reaches out for every god he can name and every prayer he can think of, desperate to hook his psychic fingertips onto some shred of connection--

Great friend of the dead, I offer my praise.
Rider on the night boat, granter of renewal,
I call to you, O goddess--

Aphrodite, subtle of soul and deathless,
Daughter of God, weaver of wiles, I pray thee …

Om Kali om, Kali om kaliomkalikaliplease–

In these first days, Matt can be found lying in the shadow of the Visionary's throne. He doesn't appear to be doing anything, at first. But as you draw closer, you may notice that his breath is coming in regular patterns, steady enough to count by. A hand on his stomach, a hand on his chest. In through the nose, hold, out through pursed lips. ]

communion (cw: discission of assault)
[ Even sleep provides no relief. Matt's dreams are slick and black. The liquid oozes down the walls, just as he could feel it sliding down the walls of his throat, covering the familiar posters of the club until he can barely read the band names. Matt stumbles into a room thumping fuzzy with bass. Bodies writhe on the dance floor, glistening with sweat or something that shines like it.

Of course, you can be in a crowd full of people and still completely alone.

This is a dream he's had before, in some particulars. The solidity of a body against his back, hips roiling. Fangs grazing his neck, copper breath at his nape. In real life, Matt was pliant, shocked, electric with fear. Part of him wanted it to happen, he just didn't know where 'it' would end or if it would. And part of him thought what he's thinking now:

I'm not gonna die like this.

Matt spins around, striking out with his nails and a flailing arm. He has next to nothing by way of strength or combat training, but in this loud fragment of dream, he's fighting for his life. ]

wildcard
[ Did we talk about something you don't see here? Want me to tag out to you? Questions, comments, random ideas? PM or hit me up at artistformerlyknownas.

As a content note, I'm not planning to tag out with any of the content in the "Communion" prompt, aka Matt stuck thinking about his awful vampire ex. Nobody will have it sprung on them or have to engage with it unless they specifically want to explore that! Ok ilu buhbye. ]

ritual (de lo habitual)

[perfectlygoodbird]

He's breathing. That's good. That means he's still alive. Meteion doesn't know this man, not like others she's met along the journey to the ritual site. But to say that she'd be distraught were he to succumb was the tip of the iceberg.

She reaches out a hand, dropping to her knees, but stopping short before actually touching him, brow furrowed. But then she clasps her hands together, closing her eyes.

Can you hear me? He seems to be so deep in trance--Meteion's seen similar things before, but she's uncertain. Would touching him wake him, or make things worse? At least if she speaks to him this way, if he doesn't want to be disturbed, it would be simple enough to cast her out, and she'd know to leave him be...

[semicharmed]

Matt's in pretty deep, it's true. For all the good it's doing him. Even here, in the thoughtless floating place he's pushed down to, the abyssopelagic zone, the sickness remains. The bleakness and the black remains, pulsing through every crevice of his body. Despair waits on just the other side of his careful blankness, ready to dizzy him as soon as his guard drops.

It's kind of Meteion to try not to disturb him. But even though Matt's aware psychic powers are a thing--a minority talent back home, but an established one--he hasn't been spoken to in this way very often. So he starts up, palms hitting the cavern floor. Matt winces as the hand the soldiers sliced comes into contact with rough stone, and casts around for who might've spoken.

"Uh--what?"

[perfectlygoodbird]

"Oh!" To say that his sudden awakening startles her is an understatement--he sits up sharply, she starts back and falls on her rump. But she doesn't seem too upset by that--instead, Meteion laughs.

"I guess you were more awake than I thought!" She straightens and tucks her legs beneath her, leaning in a little bit. "Do you need anything? I think I can get some water, at the very least." Maybe there's a clean stream nearby--the Hylians and the Achamites aren't letting Meteion outside until she finds her truth, whatever that means, but they don't seem to be keeping as tight a leash on the waterskins as they are everything else. That, or they figure Meteion is no trouble because of her Legacy. Though there, they'd be wrong...

[semicharmed]

The sound of laughter startles Matt, if anything, more than the sudden communication did. It bursts like a star in the firmament of the cavern. A part of him shies back from it, like he might from over-strong sunlight.

But then he smiles, charmed.

"I wasn't asleep," he assures her. "I was just, um, meditating. Or trying to." The mention of water is pretty tantalizing; Matt swallows, managing to taste both dryness and the oily remnants of whatever they made them drink. Just thinking about it seems to rouse it: Matt feels a dark, uncertain sloshing in his gut.

He breathes in, slowly. Holds at the top. Sighs.

"Water would be really nice. Um. But I can come with you, I can ..."

Help? Be proactive in at least some way? Whatever works.

[perfectlygoodbird]

"Oh!" That made sense. It wasn't as if the Ancients hadn't done so, and surely there were others who meditated as well. Though Meteion wouldn't call some of the things she did meditation, truly. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, then. You aren't damaged, are you? Not by what I did." As for what the soldiers and the cultists did, well. Clearly, that was another story.

"I don't think they'll let us out for fresh air, but if you think walking will do some good, you should, then." Meteion nods, and offers him a hand to help him up. She might be tiny, but she surely wouldn't be too terribly bowed under his weight for the brief time it would take him to get to his feet. There's a brief look of distaste, but she shakes her head.

"I don't like what they gave all of us. It's...wrong." But while Meteion might have words to describe it better, she doesn't want to think too hard about it. About the whispers she now hears, singing low about sweet nihility...

[semicharmed]

"Oh no, no, I'm fine," Matt says hastily, accepting Meteion's hand. Less than hastily, he lurches to his feet, free hand braced on the Visionary's battered throne. Maybe it's overly cautious of him, but he feels seasick.

As if reading his mind--or maybe it's just that she's tasting the same foul leftovers he is--his new acquaintance makes that rather ominous pronouncement. Matt frowns at her. He has to look down instead of up to do that now, the feathery blue of her hair fully registering for the first time. It's nice. Sort of ... whimsical? Whimsy is in direly short supply down here.

"I don't like it either," he agrees, low. He pauses. "It's gotta be some kind of poison or something, right?"

That's probably a less insane-sounding question than can you feel it swimming?

communion

[baltimores]

[ He's so lost in his own bullshit he doesn't realize when he slips into someone else's.

Being in a club feels normal. Safe, even. For a moment, Amos finds respite in it — home, when it was okay — before it all twists into something horribly wrong, painfully familiar, and the pliancy seeps right back into his bones.

It leaves him open to be suddenly struck, scratches that should be superficial stinging that bit more than they should because of their proximity to where he'd been cut just before all of this began. He instinctually flinches back — fuck — and hisses through his teeth, but the pain, combined with how he can feel this is just a little off — this never happened to him, not like this — is enough to jolt him back to reality, to a flailing man he recognizes.

Amos knows better than to reach out and grab someone when they're like this. He's also too weak to do anything meaningful. He stays seated, inadvertently cowering, because the impressions are still just too similar and he. fucking can't right now.

He does manage to keep his voice conversational, though. There's a part of him that's just disconnected enough to keep that going, and, shit, he hopes it's enough to work here. ]

That happens to you again, no shame in going for the eyes. The groin. Anything that'll take them the fuck out.

[semicharmed]

[ That voice is ... not the one he expected to hear.

And when Matt turns around, the person on the floor is not the one he expected to see. The volume on the music turns down, though the bass still thumps like a languid heartbeat. The dancers around them move indistinctly, their forms silhouetted black. Matt's eyes widen. ]

You--

[ You don't know what happened, he's on the cusp of protesting. Nobody does, nobody ever did. Nobody but him and V. Matt's eyes dart around the room, searching, and though the bottles on the bar glint like a row of fangs, he doesn't spot who he's looking for.

Matt bends down, extending a hand to Amos. ]

I don't think it's safe for you here, [ he says, eyes tight with worry. ] You should go.

[ He's gonna come back. ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos stares up at the hand offered to him, itself flashing indistinct and vaguely threatening for a second before he recognizes what it is. It's help. And that gives him pause, because he wasn't expecting that down here.

He takes too long to mull it over, still and staring up at Matt in wonderment, before he slowly unfurls his body and accepts it, fingers finding an anchor in Matt's own. Amos lets him help him up, but shakes his head in response to what he says, a small, pathetic movement. ]

It's not safe anywhere. [ His voice is small, exhausted. He isn't at full resignation yet, but probably only because he recognizes Matt's situation, and he finds he doesn't want to leave him alone with it. ] Maybe a little safer if someone else is with you, though.

[ Holy fuck, do I wish I could've ever had someone with me. ]

[semicharmed]

[ In the medium of the dream, Matt finds that the touch feels--not quite like it would in the waking world. There's a sort of scrim between the physical sensation he expects and what he can actually detect. At the same time, there is something. Matt doesn't know how to describe it. Singing along to a song you both know the words to? Static electricity? He still craves physical contact, misses its lack so fiercely it hurts--but at least he doesn't feel so completely alone. ]

Maybe, [ Matt allows. Though he doesn't sound convinced.

The bass has quieted to the thump of a heart, erratic background. Whispers run through the room, too susurrous to make out. Matt seems to recognize them, though; his grip on Amos tightens instinctively. ]

Then we should--try and go.

[ A light flicks on across the room, illuminating a doorway. Matt hesitates, but figures, what option do they have? He starts towards it.

As he takes his first steps, the whispers sharpen. It's not Matt's voice.

Smell so good ... I could just drink you dry. ]

[baltimores]

[ He glances down at their hands when Matt's grip tightens, back into his eyes when he speaks again. He hears the way the bass has shifted, too — it makes him feel small, trapped, stuck inside a box and at the mercy of forces outside — and tries to steel himself for it. The surrounding environment doesn't quite line up like he'd thought it would; like it had before he ended up here. And. He'd told Matt it would be better to stay together, so he's gotta stick to that now.

Amos has no choice but to follow Matt as they make their way to the doorway. Its sudden appearance seems like a bad thing, but. He doesn't really know what else to do.

It's when he's considering saying something that he hears those whispers, and Amos stops walking, looking around them without knowing what he's actually looking for. ]

The fuck.

[ Something in him recognizes what this means, though, and he turns back to Matt. Yeah. He's staying here now. Amos hadn't been able to fight anyone off in his own nightmares — but this isn't his, and it's no coincidence he grew up to be a fighter. ]

I dunno if the door's a good idea. Shit. I dunno if here's a good idea. Where are we?

[semicharmed]

[ Matt doesn't seem surprised by any of these developments--but then, it's his dream. Everything here is familiar to him in some sense, even while it takes on uncanny particulars. What he does seem is afraid, and dimly resigned.

He blinks at Amos, puzzled by the question. Jarred, slightly, from the well-worn rails of the nightmare. The whispers have quieted again, but from the shape of the sound, distinguishable at their ragged, lacy edges, it's at least a partial repetition. Good, drink, dry. ]

We're ... stuck back here, [ is the best Matt can do. ] He's gonna come back, and we'll dance, and ...

[ Matt shakes his head. ]

Sorry. I'm being dramatic. [ He swallows, deliberately loosening his grip. The light in the doorframe buzzes, flickering on and off. ] You should go. I'll be okay.

Communion

[intermingled]

[ Spock's mind is normally much more disciplined than this, but sleeping in such close proximity to so many minds that are reaching out for contact would be difficult to ignore even without his own symptoms testing him.

The club is loud and unfamiliar to him. He recognizes it as a very human sort of place but the type he has spent his time thus far among humans avoiding at all costs. The touching and the many intoxicated minds in such close proximity to his own seem more like a method of personal testing than an enjoyable evening. Right now, however, he can feel fear and exhilaration and he cannot tell where his own feelings end and another's begin. He might think this could be a mind meld, but there is something so uncontrolled about it.

He's in free fall and then suddenly a man is striking out around him and Spock can do nothing but react, ducking away and reaching out to grab the man's wrists. ]

[semicharmed]

[ If there's one thing Matt is right now, it's in free fall. A broken record whose last note is the ground. But in his wildest moment, just as he strikes out against--

Against the coffin of this club, its indifferent crowd. The cloying oil coating the walls, suffocating him. Against V. Right as he does, something arrests his descent. The grip around his wrist doesn't feel physical, exactly; it's not solid like hands would be in the waking world. But it does feel real.

Matt's wide eyes focus on Spock's face. He blinks. ]

You're not ...

[ Who I was expecting, he could say, or more accurately, my ex. But in the way dreams have of imparting knowledge without explanation, Spock may know that's what he means. On the stage at one end of the dancefloor, a ring of bear traps snap shut like fanged mouths. ]

A vampire, [ Matt concludes. ]

[intermingled]

[ Spock's grip loosens as soon as he feels the lack of intent to strike. Even in a dream, physical touch feels too forceful or too intimate to him. Their minds are already touching, but he cannot shake the years of learning that touch invites a sharing of thoughts that is not always welcome and so his hands drop back down to his sides. ]

Correct. I am a Vulcan.

[ He is familiar with the concept of vampires from Terran literature, though it is not a topic he's found himself particularly drawn to, even within fiction. ]

You are not in any danger from me.

[ He can feel the anxious energy that settles here. His own mind is normally more ordered, but there's a sort of chaos that swirls below the surface now as the feelings bring his mind to his own recent memories of loss and fear. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt, meanwhile, feels faintly bereft as the touch--dreamlike though it is--recedes. A sigh runs around the club, seeping from the oozing walls. ]

A Vulcan?

[ This is new information to Matt--entirely new, since he doesn't think this person is trying to tell him that he's a Roman god of the forge. It's not enough to puncture the dream, but one wall of the club gives a ripple, resolving into something that might be magma and might be a deep, slow ocean. There are stars in it. ]

You look familiar. [ Probably from the ritual where they all occupied symbolic points on the same circle. ] How do I know you?

[intermingled]

I do not know.

[ Spocks own mind struggles to find grounding in all of this. He feels overwhelmed, even if he doesn't show it easily. His mind feels as if it's swirling and he's struggling to reach for the correct thoughts and memories. ]

But I believe I have seen you as well.

[ He looks around. ]

I believe this is in your mind.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's brow furrows for your mind. ]

But ... it doesn't feel like this, when I do it.

[ The concept, like the last piece of new information Spock introduced into his dreamscape, has an immediate effect on the space around them. The starry expanse undulating on one wall starts to slosh, washing over the club until it looks more like they're on the inside of a cavernous diving bell. The club stage, the dancers, they all fade away, and Matt and Spock are descending through thalassic layers: gardens, trees, upside-down skylines, ex-lovers. The only remnants of the club are its bass beat, and occasionally, a tremor of music.

Matt stays focused on Spock, his expression searching. ]

I mean, it doesn't feel like this when I touch someone's mind, and they touch mine--and everything else. [ This is an objectively terrible explanation of Matt's ability to open a channel of perfect communication between his body and someone else's, but it could have been even worse so there's that. ] Is this something different? Do you know?

communion

[dragon_rider]

[ Even for someone seemingly hardwired to be unable to sleep when his mind is whirring, sleep finds Hiccup rather he means it to or not. His own dreams are fitful in their own ways, but they're nothing to many of the others. Some part of his consciousness is only able to recognize dreams as not familiar — The loud music, large room, and its many bodies aren't a word he'd be able to have in his vocabulary.

Club, the part of him that is more communion than himself gives when he seeks an answer out. The dances are stranger than any he knows how to do — maybe that's for the best when the fear within the dream itself settles over his bones. His fingers ache for a blade that's not there as he snakes through the crowd. Only stopping when the flaying of a dreamer's hands nearly knocks him in the head: ]

Woah — Woah —

[ Quick to step back he raises his hands in a show of having nothing. His voice teeters from high-pitched to solid as he adds : ] It's me — Just a regular guy.

[ There's some mild emphasis on the word regular. ]

[semicharmed]

[ So much in this dreamworld is malleable, conforming to Matt's expectations even more than his will. But Hiccup doesn't. The walls may ooze black sludge, the dancers may twist and writhe or remain statue still, the bass may fall out from the music to leave only Matt's beating heart--but Hiccup is still himself, unchanging. Not a fang on him. ]

Ah--

[ Matt's eyes widen as he recognizes him. The contrition is immediate, his hands falling stiffly to his sides. ]

I'm so sorry, I didn't--know you were gonna be here. [ Matt glances around, agitated. There's a shadow moving at the corner of the dancefloor, a shape he can't quite make out. ] Did I hurt you?

[dragon_rider]

[ Thankfully, Hiccup is surprisingly quick enough to avoid most of the force of wailing hands — Though one claps well into his shoulder that has him rubbing at it before forcing out a laugh. ]

Oh, trust me, I've felt worse. [ He shifts his weight as if to indicate the leg that's no longer there, but doesn't say anything more: ] Nevermind that — This is pretty...

[ He crinkles his nose in spite of himself at the walls: ]

Not good...?

[ The way he says the words seems to be indicative of both the other man and the room. Green eyes tilting past it to watch him inquisitively, asking without prying. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's gaze drops to Hiccup's leg, then darts away in embarrassment.

It turns out that even in dreams where you're being stalked by the specter of your vampire ex, you can still feel mortified by insufficient sensitivity over someone's limb difference. Although actually, that makes perfect sense to Matt. Embarrassment is a bad dream's bread and butter. Next thing you know, he'll be naked in front of his high school chemistry cla-- ]

It's very not good, [ he assures Hiccup, right as a spotlight clanks on. For some reason, this is the single most terrifying thing Matt can imagine. He knows V's sent it, or is looking through it. Looking for him.

He reaches for Hiccup again--this time delicately, and intentionally, but with the same panicked urgency as his flailing arms had had. ]

We have to go.

[ The spotlight has started to sweep across the floor, but in the corner opposite, a door has swung open. Daylight streams through it. ]

[dragon_rider]

[ Hiccup nodded in response — Very not good. The environment is creepy on its own, but he's still not entirely certain what's going on. Other then his companion is panicked.

When the other reached for him, his eyes flickered upwards to where he looked and he adds: ]

Can you really get all that far? Won't it just follow you?

[ It's a quick question, but either way he obliges in following for now. ]

[semicharmed]

I don't know, [ Matt protests, a tight edge of urgency coming into his tone. His fingers grip Hiccup's wrist as he steers them towards the door. ] But we can't stay here.

[ As predicted, the light does follow them. Or at least, in the course of its sweep, it seems to catch on to where they are. Matt's nervous shuffling turns into a full-on run as the spotlight picks up speed, the sunlit door tantalizing close. They manage to burst through just in time, door swinging shut behind them with a final-sounding clank, and find themselves-- ]

Oh God.

[ --Standing amid a covered walkway that wraps around a grassy central square. There are trees and picnic tables scattered among the grass; the nearest wall is lined with lockers. Matt groans. ]

This is where I went to high school.