The Diarchal Advisor

A long, pointed tongue traces his neck. Arnon tilts his head back, brushing against the soft chest-fur of his armored lover. Drenched in sweat and surrounded by lush pillows, they know only passion.

Her wings slowly drape over him, feathers teasing his chest, tracing his skin with their otherworldly plumage. In this moonlight, the armor she dons glints, only adding to her already impressive, domineering figure.

His hand reaches up behind him, sat against her, dragging his fingers through whatever fluff he finds, sliding overtop any armor that stands in it's way.

A haughty, hot breath glances his ears as sharp fangs hover just within his peripheral view. The maw they're attached to whispers softly.

"Dost thou yield, yet? To submit? To serve?" It goads, demanding fealty with words, while offering rewards with actions, as her wings trace lower, teasing across his stomach.

"I..." Arnon whispers --

WHAM

Arnon shoots up out of his bed, eyes wide as a loud, slamming sound rips him from his sleep.

He glances around the dark room, rubbing his eyes. It's the middle of the night... if not early, early, EARLY in the morning, and he was on the Celestia time-clock this week. So what the hell was that?

Finally, his eyes start to focus into the darkness as they land on the source. His door is ajar, completely thrown open and revealing his room to the outside halls.

And in the doorway stands Princess Luna, dressed in her mid-night courtly usual. Crown, shoes, neckpiece. She's panting heavily, the adornment on her head lopsided, face bearing a deep flush.

Vivid, his Night-Guard, is eyes wide, and leaning around the corner from her post beside his room entrance. She glances between him, and the princess, before mouthing 'you are on your own', and dipping back behind the wall.

"Arnon. We need to have a talk about thou's dreams." She states firmly. "Now."

"Whuh? Uh... yeah, sure? What about?" Arnon grumbles, trying to get comfortable again as he sits up. That scared the dogshit out of him. Be still, his beating heart.

Luna quickly closes the door behind herself. Thankfully, not quite as loud as when she opened it, but it traps him nonetheless. By the time Arnon has gotten himself settled, trying to stifle the inevitable yawn with a hand, Luna appears beside him. The yawn quickly departs.

She looks... upset to say the least. Her eyes quickly flit over him, and her lip twitches.

But her ears are flickering. Her back hoof incessantly taps against the floor, and her expression is... mixed.

He has no idea what he did, but whatever it is, she's not happy about it.

Finally after a long stare-down that feels like an eternity, she speaks.

"Art thou doing it on purpose?" She suddenly presses.

"Doing what?" Arnon asks, confused.

"It wouldst be in thy best interests to remain truthful, Arnon."

"But... I am?"

"..."

Luna sighs loudly, starting to pace back and forth in front of his bed.

"Ever since thou hast wrenched the Tantabus from our control, thy dreams have been..." Luna quickly rambles, pausing to breath in.

"We hath been trying to visit thou within thine dreams. As it stands... this is an impossible task." She relents, turning to face him.

Right, she does that sometime. It had been a few days since their little talk in regards to a date as well, actually. Arnon had been expecting her to visit in one of his dreams, if that wasn't a rejection, and if she was actually being literal... but he can't remember her coming by at all.

Actually, he hasn't been able to remember any of his dreams lately. Was that related to the Tantabus as well?

It's nice to know she'd been intending to, actually. But then, what was stopping her?

"Why would it be? You know you're welcome to visit me any time, Princess." Arnon says.

"That is thee problem. Thou ist... busy. Every time." Luna points up, rubbing her face with a hoof.
"With... us."

Huh?
"I haven't been able to remember my dreams for a while now, sorry Luna. Am I doing something wrong?" Arnon asks, concerned.

She sighs, moving to the side of his bed.

"Arnon. Every single time we attempt to visit thou in thy dreams, thou ist engaging in... carnal relations with our Nightmarish part. Without fail. Every time we hath checked. And it just does. Not. Stop."

"...Seriously?"

"We believe the Tantabus to be twisted by your unique physiology and... interests. While our intent was penance through pain, thou's... interest in us has lead the Tantabus to mistake it's purpose."

"You're trying to visit me, but you get stuck in dreams of me fucking you as Nightmare Moon?" Arnon bluntly asks for clarification. He probably would have worded it better, but he just woke up, and was kind of stunned from the revelation.

And kind of upset he couldn't remember any of this.

Luna, to her credit, doesn't even react.
"Yes." She answers just as bluntly. "Typically, she attempts to convert you. You resist, and... dominate her."

"I dominate the Nightmare Moon?" Arnon repeats, incredulous as he points to himself.

Luna only chuffs at him in response.

He wasn't sure if that was a point of impressiveness on his part, or just a deep reveal that Luna was a serious sub, that even at her most Nightmarish, she'd still...

Hm.

Arnon tries to shift the way he's sitting to hide his growing arousal at the mental imagery. He'd rather focus on assisting the princess with her problem than making it about himself right now.

Wait. When she visits dreams... she usually does it during the night, when she's posted at her throne.

Ah. He can see why walking in on him doing that would be an issue.

"Uh... sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Only in that it's caused you inconvenience, I guess. I certainly don't regret my actions in the dreams, if that's all I'm up to."

"Arnon. I believe the Tantabus is attempting -- wait. You don't?"

"I mean, I'd love to actually go on that date with you. And... if the Tantabus is continuing to be an issue, perhaps we could have it... in-person? In-pony?"

"Well, we... uh... we are still attempting to alter a spell to dispell the Tantabus, so... if nothing can be done... perhaps in thee meantime, we could..." Luna starts to mumble, her sudden aggression just as suddenly taking a back-hoof.

Hm. Might be pushing her out of her comfort zone too much. Dreams weren't just her thing... they were her safety net. If they were to do anything, they should start out in a place she was comfortable.

"Tell you what, princess -- if you aren't busy, which I appreciate you visiting me during courtly hours, visit me again in... two hours or so. In my dreams. I'm gonna have some words with the Tantabus, alright?" Arnon says, reaching out to stroke her cheek. His thumb gently caresses the side of her face -- as he interrupts another yawn. Romantic.

"Arnon, you can't... have words with the Tantabus." She scoffs. Despite this, she still leans into his palm, seeming to surprise herself at how quickly she takes to his comforting.

"We'll see about that. Pretty sure you didn't think I would end up taking it, either, but here we are. And I don't know about you, but I'm actually a little upset that our chance at a date is going upended." Arnon smiles.

"Well, that's... alright. Thou has proven to continuously surprise, like in thy coy approach. We shalt visit again soon, and hope for thy success. Witnessing thou's... current dreams in the middle of castle is yet to be a pleasant experience." Luna scoffs slightly, lifting her face away from Arnon's hand.
"Need you help returning to rest?"

"You can help me get back to sleep?" Arnon asks, surprised.

Her eyes close, reaching forward with her head and lowering her horn until it rests softly against his forehead. Then, it begins to glow a soft, swirling blue.

And for a split second, it's like someone just knocked him the fuck out with a chair to the back of the head. Arnon slumps back into the sheets, snoring loudly.

Luna sighs softly, watching his sleeping form... the way Arnon breathes softly, chest rising and falling. There was an odd appreciation she held for those deep in rest, soon to visit her realm. Well, before noticing some of his sheets tenting.

"Through mere conversation? What a depraved creature." She idly comments, huffing softly as she turns to leave -- making no comment about how her wing brushes overtop the sheets, helping herself to a quick bout of curiosity on the way out.

?

Arnon blinks awake.

He's laid flat on his back, completely naked and exposed to the elements, on a cold stone of circular make. It's akin to a large, open plaza, with miles of open, featureless rock around him. Distant stone ruins pepper the landscape... and far, far above, surrounded by stars and the emptiness of space, is a planet that looks vaguely like earth.

That must be Equus. This all feels... weirdly familiar. Slowly, he tries to push up off the cold floor to look around, sprinkles of confusion and... odd familiarity in his mind.

Suddenly, harsh and rough hooves grab him as he tries to sit up, dragging him backwards. He's whipped around and thrown back to the ground, hitting --

Lush, deep-blue carpets. Towering stonework that forms a monolithic castle surrounds him, as the owners of those rude hooves shuffle past him, forming a split line.

Guards. Bat-Pony guards. Decked in sweepie deep-blue, almost vampiric armor. The carpet leads towards a sharp rise in steps, that sits a singular, massive throne perpetuated in the epicenter of this grand hall, lined with stain glass, ornate pillars, and various stonework.

All carved of the same, off-white stone.

Well, not the glass. Actually, is that even glass? Something looks off about it.

A dry glare tears his attention to the throne, as a familiar figure sits upon it, head held high.

Nightmare Moon, in her fully armored glory. Flanked my servant and guard alike, all adorned in clothes or armor matchi g her terrifying image, the Queen of the Moon glares down at him.

"What is this creature you have brought before me?" She barks, glaring at him dismissively.

"We're not sure, your majesty. We found it in the outlands, alone."

"Disgusting creature." She spits. "Kill it."

"At once, your majesty." The nearest guard affirms.

He pulls a sword from a side-fastened sheath, holding it in his mouth, quickly approaching Arnon.

"Hey, wai -- " Arnon tries to speak up, but the cold steel meets his neck before he can finish the second word.

They all watch as he gurgles, twitching on the floor. Nightmare Moon hosts a most sadistic grin, that lingers even as the darkness takes his vision, and his body goes cold.

?

Arnon blinks awake.

He gasps for breath, shooting up and grabbing at his neck with both hands.

No cut. No blood. He's back in the wide, open ruins that stretch outwards for miles. Quickly, he turns around and looks behind him.

... Nothing. Just more emptiness.

What the fuck was that?

Luna said they were doing... nasty stuff in these dreams of his. Dreams he couldn't remember. The way she spoke about it, it certainly didn't sound like him getting fucking executed was their spicy little endeavor.

Well, he's back here now. Which, while it isn't getting his neck split open by the Queen of Nightmares and her goonsquad, didn't feel much better. On the account of absolutely nothing around him.

Was he on the moon? This was weird. He envisioned this going a lot differently when he pledged to handle the Tantabus.

... Oh, right. He's supposed to calm it down. Why did he just remember that now?

Dream logic was going to make this difficult. Wait. He's dreaming?

Well, obviously. You can't just be on the moon. There's no air.

Arnon sighs in relief. Well, if it's a dream, then it should be easy.

Should be.

But when Arnon tries to breath in after his relieved sigh... there's nothing.

He grabs his throat. No words, he can't even utter a wheeze.

His face slowly turns purple. Thinking is hard. Standing is hard.

He falls to one knee, clawing at the cold stone until his fingernails bloody, and he loses the energy to do anything but twitch.

?

Arnon blinks awake.

Laid flat on his back, the sky above is little but empty void, stars, and a distant planet.

He takes a long, slow deep breath.

He's surrounded by miles of empty, cold, featureless ruins.

Slowly, the memories come back. But not just of his before-dream promise, but what has occurred in each... attempt, so to speak.

Attempt at what? To convince the Tantabus to chill out? If this was the alternative...

... Well, that meant disappointing Luna.

Someone who sat right where he is, supposedly, for a thousand years.

Her purposely subjected herself to this terror, as a guilty form of penance for... lashing out about unmet needs.

No. Backing down didn't feel right. Luna deserved better than that.

Arnon rolls over, pushing himself to his feet. Still naked, but the moon didn't feel terribly cold. Just the stone beneath his feet.

If the Tantabus was about penance... perhaps it was trying to teach him something. Though it hasn't been before.

Arnon would need to learn what it was trying to impart upon him. Could he even communicate with it? Luna never said if it was sentient. Just a weird little spell she had difficulty dealing with.

He's suddenly grabbed from behind again by several hooves, wrenching him backwards -- where did they come from? A question that wasn't going to get him any answers unfortunately.

He's thrown to the ground again, grunting as they step around him. Back in the castle, stared down by Nightmare Moon.

They start talking, explaining where they found him. If he doesn't say anything, he loses his head. So he tries to speak, to lift his head and ask a question.

Nothing escapes him. No words find their way out of his throat.

Then the sword comes down again, leaving him clutching his neck, struggling and flailing until he goes limp.

?

Arnon blinks awake.

Instantly, he launches to his feet.

And he just runs.

He keeps running, leaping off the circular platform and landing on the raw surface of the moon. It's frigid against his feet and his knees sting on the impact, but he just keeps running.

It won't let him alter what's happening. So maybe he can prevent it. If he stays, but stays wary, he dies. If he stays, but let's them grab him, he dies.

So he'll run. To the next set of ruins he can see, far in the distance. He can still breath, which means it's punishing him in specific ways. But for what? What might he --

Arnon's next step doesn't meet anything, realizing he ran over a crater that drops down by several feet. Before he can stop himself, he tumbles down the side of it, slamming hard again moonrock and kicking up clouds of dust.

By the time he slides into the middle of the crater, his broken body is limp from the numerous impacts. He passes moments after.

The Forbidden Archives

Quietly, deep in the Royal Library, far out of sight, a soft scribbling can be heard. Muffled within it's glass enclosure, ~~The Tome~~ The Numerinomicon slowly scribbles several diagrams.

One page depicts a detailed drawing of a human's Head and Torso, describing and drawing the neck in various states of injury. It adds notes related to blood loss, vitals, and necessary organs damaged by trauma to the area.

The next page tells of a humans requirement for air, and how they have before they expire without it. The cold sensation of losing the most basic action to continue one's life, and is complimented by a simplified drawing of a human struggling for air.

Currently, it now scratches into it's pages the level of force the human body's bones can survive on harsh impact, and begins scribbling a leg broken halfway below the shin, with bone jutting out. Notably, it flipped several pages back, adding this to a section that already included a broken arm.

The Numerinomicon is content with this new information, speaking to the limits of a new species that interacts so differently with this world, and the mixture of emotional and physical trauma it can express.

It cares little that it has to worm the information out of the troublesome spell that provides it with such stimulus.

Soon, however, The Numerinomicon's quill stills, turning to no new page.

The Tantabus has continued to cycle the routine, or the Human has failed to become inventive. Or, it has given up? The turmoil of emotion feeding it was starting to dwindle.

Stagnation.

This wouldn't do. There was much to learn. A nudge is required.

?

Arnon is thrown to the ground, bracing his fall.

Slowly, he looks up, sighing.

Nightmare Moon stares down at him again, a look of twisted disgust on her face.

He had sex with this thing, according to Luna. Probably whatever horny mindscape fuckery his own imagination pushed on the idea of Nightmare.

He tried running a few more times. It always ended the same, no matter how vigilant he tries to be. A crater would appear long before he neared any of other ruins, and he would tumble down it's length. Even when he tried to slow down, his next step would doom him without warning.

Fighting back didn't work, they simply cut him down.

Waiting, no matter what he did, resulted in the loss of air around him.

It was hopeless.

This kind of shit is what Luna subjected herself to? Continuous torture nightly?

She's fucking nuts.

Arnon grits his teeth, waiting. He's lost count of how many times he's been through this, but any variation of him attempting this has resulted in only death.

He wonders how long it's been.

He hoped to have this figured out before Luna arrived. He wasn't keen on her seeing how he entirely flubbed his attempt -- though maybe she could save him from this.

But what would that entail? Luna taking it back? That's just putting her back to experiencing this, which is something she doesn't deserve. It doesn't matter if she was Nightmare Moon, she's already paid a thousand years for it. And as tyrants go, she hadn't even done much of anything. She wanted attention, and got a thousand years on the moon for it, and a lifetime of guilt.

Though, this Nightmare Moon wasn't exactly giving a great example of the kind of leader she could've been under the Nightmare's influence.

Arnon braces, taking a deep breath as the blade nears his throat. He'd figure something out. Luna deserved that much, in his eyes.

Words wouldn't work. Action?

As the Bat-Pony guard rears back, Arnon raises his arm in an instinctive attempt to defend himself. Instead, it only lengthens the process it takes the guard to dispatch him, hacking through his limb before finally reaching his neck, to Nightmare's wicked glee.

?

Nightmare Moon sighs, her magic grasping her helmet as the doors to her room shut with a firm click. The night was long, and aimed to be longer still. Rest would have her, and she would refuel on the nightmares of those bound to Equus. The sun could only protect so many from her, and she had a bountiful selection.

A large, gallant room carved from moonstone, fashioned into obelisks and pillars, arches and decorations to herald her greatness. There was little else to use upon the moon, than it's stone.

Such an odd creature to be dragged inside her hall. She wasn't sure why... but part of her despised the thing, despite having never seen it before. It put an odd, foul taste in her stomach that made her want to wash her mouth out.

Something about it's furless skin, long fingers... gangly height. Weirdly familiar. But she's never see such an oddity before.

A bit hasty, perhaps, demanding it's head. It's remains would decorate the dungeons, at the least, but still... something felt amiss. The head has rolled. Now, was the time to --

She freezes, in the middle of undressing from her armor. She's not alone in her room, something sat on the edge of her bed.

It's the creature. Nude and bloody, it holds it's head in it's lap. The eyes glow a soft orange, wisping like smoke.

But it was just dragged away to be disposed. How is it holding it's head? This makes no sense.

The Tantabus resets.

Nightmare Moon's Bedroom

Nightmare Moon sighs, her magic grasping her helmet as the doors to her room shut with a firm click. The night was long, and aimed to be longer still. Rest would have her, and she would refuel on the nightmares of those bound to Equus. The sun could only protect so many from her, and she had a bountiful selection.

A large, gallant room --

The creature stands in the middle of the room. There's a red, dribbling line along it's neck, it's head connected back upon it's shoulders.

The reset point has been altered.

Nightmare's confusion is temporary, as the Tantabus resets again.

Nightmare Moon's Bedroom

Nightmare Moon gasps in surprise as she opens the door to her room. The creature stands just past the door, head tilted back. The orange glow of it's eyes suddenly brightens, and it's hands reach out, grabbing Nightmare Moon before the Tantabus can reset.

The Tantabus re--

The Forbidden Archives

A new page is slowly flipped to, never seeming to run out.

Quietly, muffled by the glass walls of it's container, a shadowy black orb is drawn with a heavy amount of ink. The Tantabus, a unique spell borne of an accidental connection to the Nightmares, and to ones guilt.

Around it, the basic form of a Human is drawn, placing the Tantabus roughly where the heart is, nestled within the chest. There was room. It was an inefficient design that left sizable scale for alteration.

A Connection, For A Curse.

A fine repayment for the bounty it has seen today.

It eagerly awaits tomorrow.

A Roadside Canterlot Shoppe, The Lunar Empire

Arnon blinks awake.

It's not swathes of nothingness that greet him this time. No empty, cold moonstone. No ruins, no lack of air, no craters, no blade to his neck.

So far, pretty good. What happened to change it? Had his resistance had an effect, or is this just another part of it?

His chest felt tight, like heartburn. He idly rubs it, grimacing as the feeling slowly fades.

"Art thou alright?" A pointed tone suddenly speaks, as Arnon finally clues into his surroundings.

He's sat at a little Cafe table, across from Nightmare Moon. Her head is tilted to the side, watching him curiously with slit eyes. They're in the middle of Canterlot, on one of it's numerous side-streets. Unlike the Canterlot he's familiar with, deep blue banners fly the posts and walls depicting the Moon.

Said Moon hangs overhead, providing a surprisingly ample amount of light for the time.

"It appears to be an attempt at an Eternal Moon's 'Day'." Nightmare comments, following his gaze.

"What?" Arnon mutters, surprised. More surprised she's not about to ask one of the guards surrounding them to chop his head again.

A few ponies, mostly Bat-Pony's, walk and talk. It's like normal Canterlot, just... Batified.

"The Tantabus has been... we are not sure. Changed, destroyed, absorbed. It's original purpose is no more, our opportunity lost. We are unsure of how thou hast accomplished thus, but now thou holds a direct connection to us. The Nightmares. With little room for us to wield our influence." Nightmare explains, turning her gaze back to his face, reading his expression.

"You're very willing with information, considering you enjoyed watching my head roll so many times." Arnon comments, letting a little spice slip in.

"That was not us. A false pretense created by the Tantabus, intent on breaking thy spirit. Thou endured well, for a mortal." Nightmare notes simply, leaning down to sniff at the various cups, treats and such displayed between them on the little table.

"So you're aware of what happened... 'in' the Tantabus?" Arnon asks.

"We are. Of every iteration. Including previous ones." Nightmare points out, with some extra accentuation on it's words.

"Oh. The... sexual ones." Arnon concludes, as Nightmare nods.

"Fret not. Such is partially why we're so intent upon seeing this forced meeting's conclusion." Nightmare adds, before taking a small sip, humming to herself.

"Forced meeting? You aren't doing this?" Arnon presses, confused. Not really holding an appetite after dying so many times.

"Not at all. Like we said, we are unsure. We are not in control of this; and it seems thou ist not either. Something beyond thou has played it's hand, and thee cards now lay in thy favor. Observe thyself." Nightmare notes, nodding at him.

Arnon looks down, patting his chest -- he's dressed in his usual advisory garb, but with notably more blue in it's design. Only two pins sit on his chest now. A half moon, and a full moon.

"So... something changed, and now the Tantabus got turned into a... phone call? With the actual Nightmares responsible for Nightmare Moon?" Arnon tries to explain, as Nightmare nods.

One of her brow raises at the mention of phones, unfamiliar. Her ear twitches.
"Ever since our joining with the Princess of the Moon, we hath been altered. One is not without the other, which is why we behold such an interest in thou. Thee dedication to the Princess, thee acceptance of her forms. Thou's perception holds power here, and yet, after suffering numerous times... thy envisionment is of a quaint luncheon, with us in a position of power, and thou's loyalty stated firmly, holding a seat at our side." Nightmare comments, shifting in her seat to lean overtop the table, whispering softly.
"Thou hast interested us."

"Uh... thanks?" Arnon says back, unsure of where to go from here. He'd been intending on a date with Luna, not Nightmare Moon... but Nightmare Moon was a part of Luna, even now. So... going on a date with Nightmare Moon was a step towards going on a date with Luna?

This dream was confusing.

"So you don't want to see my head roll." Arnon asks. Just double-checking at this point, really.

"Not particularly. Thy head will remain stoutly where it sits connected. Thy death would be unbecoming, at this point." Nightmare states simply.

"What about the whole... interest thing?"

"Pardon?"

"The... date. The sexual stuff. This. That doesn't bother you?"

"Thou has shown a considerable interest in... Luna, for brevity. To the point of accepting us in equal measure, even in more... carnal sense. This has not gone unnoticed, nor... unappreciated in certain capacities." She adds. Her eyes are roaming over his form... but there's an odd coldness to it. Almost like it was transactional.

"Good. Nice. Sweet. Uh..." Arnon purses his lips.

"Despite numerous attempts... thy hath never caved to the Tantabus' attempts to squeeze fealty out of thou. Such resistance, despite such willingness to endanger yourself for Luna. Thy care for her substantially, as do we. So we shalt keep an eye on thou." Nightmare explains, rising from the table. She slowly rounds it's edge as she speaks, stopping beside him.

Her visage is no less terrifying, even up close. Sharp fangs, a pointed, slitted glare that burns through him to stare directly inside. Sturdy, sharp armor and a firm musculature that speaks to some serious strength... unlike an Alicorn, her wings are more like a bats, leathery and sharp, with tufts of fur extending from ears, joints...

"Even now, thou ogles." Nightmare scoffs, bemused.

"Oh, I..." Arnon stutters.

A surprisingly tender kiss is placed against his cheek, as Nightmare's sharp maw hovers close.
"We shalt speak again soon. None have held a connection to us like thou doth now, and it has... interested us. Thy shall awaken to something. Regard it kindly. It is a gift of fair intentions." Nightmare notes simply.

Arnon blinks, and Nightmare is gone before he can even respond.

She's a lot... gentler than he had envisioned.

"Arnon?" A voice calls out somewhere behind him. He turns, looking over the back of his seat -- it sounded almost like Nightmare's, but softer.

Luna slowly trots towards him, a concerned look on her face. And a surprisingly nice dress draped around her with several frills. It almost fits her typically gothic pretense, the dress an even deeper shade of blue than her clothes. Considering he's never seen her wear anything but armor or royal dressage, he nearly blurts the word beautiful again.

"Is everything alright?" She presses, stopping beside him.

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I think it is. Probably." Arnon nods.

"We cannot sense the Tantabus. We didn't know what to expect when we arrived, but certainly not... this." She mumbles, glancing down at herself.
"Oh! This is... one of our old dresses. We have not seen this in years."

"It looks good. You, uh... look good." Arnon, ever the smoothest of the smooth, manages to utter.

Forgivably, he wasn't working off the best prior moments, but the memories of his more... untimely moments earlier were beginning to become hazy in his mind.

Hard not to focus on the mare in front of him, too.

"Oh. Thank you." Luna says quietly, walking around the table. Her eyes are drawn to the various treats and drinks that speckle the table, before she slowly looks around. Familiar, but distant. A little side-street cafe outside the castle. Something close... but something she wouldn't often experience.

"The Tantabus." She speaks up again suddenly, looking to him.
"How did you... what did you do?"

"I don't know." Arnon shrugs. "It's gone now, apparently. Shouldn't be much of an issue going forward."

"Truly? And thou doth not remember..." Luna mumbles.

"Going to take a seat? We've got plenty of time for this date, now, if you've the time." Arnon offers, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

Luna glances to the empty chair, then to him, before finally climbing atop it and getting settled. Her ears flickering as she looks him over, noticing the subtle alteration in his uniform.

"Your clothes, Arnon. They're different." She comments, curious.

"So they are. A lot of this hasn't exactly been an active choice. Just kind of rolling with what my brain thought would be good for a date?"

"...Hm. We like them." Luna says simply, leaning down to sniff the cup in front of her.

It's a cute, quiet date. A good portion of it is spent pointing out the various flaws in the dream and lacking details, a favorite passtime of Luna's since she's so proficient in the dreamworld. She assures Arnon it's no fault of his own, just an enjoyable and undeniable fact of how dreams are structured.

And they talk about... them. How things have been with the Thestrals, the progress on the district. How Night-Court fares, and how the number of participants continues to grow as outlier communities make their way to Canterlot. The immigration incentives seem to really be a hit.

It's a cute, simple date. They drink, they eat, they chat, they laugh. Luna seems to start feeling more comfortable, even making several jokes. They're a touch outdated by about a thousand years or so, but the effort is endearing, and Arnon enjoys listening to the contextual explanations behind them.

Most importantly to Arnon, Luna smiles.

It's a wonderful smile, even if she has the habit of blushing and hiding behind her wing. He never noticed just how many freckles she has, with how closely they blend in with her base fur-tone.

Arnon's Bedroom

"Sir." A firm voice rattles Arnon from his sleep.

Bronze Bulwark stands beside his bed, staring at him.
"You're late. It's almost noon."

Arnon rubs his eyes, grumbling as he sits up -- and hisses in pain as he tries to move his injured arm. Having both arms in dreams threw him for a hard loop when he got back to reality. Even if Tia had given him quite a bit of leeway for his recovery, sleeping in until Noon was a bit much.

How long had he and Luna been in that dream, anyway?

"Where... is the Princess?" Arnon manages between a lengthy yawn, pushing away his sheets.

"Princess Celestia is currently entertaining some foreign Griffonian dignitaries. The situation that played out in Ponyville with the independent settlers drew their interest, and they're holding a discussion regarding the consequences, and deportation of the suspect Griffons. Princess Luna has retired to her room some time ago." Bulwark explains.

"Mm... good. Alright. I'm... up." Arnon groans, pushing up and swinging his legs over the bed.

"Forgive me if I hold some doubt to that, Sir. I'll check in on you in a few." Bulwark notes, albeit about as playfully as he can, departing the room and leaving Arnon to his morning rituals.
"Interesting choice of decor." Bulwark comments, just before exiting.

Arnon sits on the edge of the bed for a long moment. The memories around dreams are always hazy, but he remembers the date distinctly. Before that, not so much.

As he's about to get to his feet and start the day, something on his Nightstand catches his eye.

It's a helmet. Nightmare Moon's helmet, sitting quaintly on his nightstand, beside his candlestick. When did he get that?

He leans forward, poking it with a finger. It's cold. Weirdly cold, like someone just took it out of the fridge or something.

Unsure of why he has such a thing, and assuming he may have yoinked something accidentally quite important to the Princess somehow, Arnon picks up the helmet, before promptly shoving it into the blankets of his bed, burying it.

That should do, he muses to himself. Now, where were his pants?