ᴀsɢᴀʀᴅ ɢᴇɴᴇsɪs ❧ mod account (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asgardmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
asgardmeridiem2014-09-26 12:15 pm
asgardmods) wrote in asgardmeridiem2014-09-26 12:15 pm
OPT-OUT EVENT LOG: DREAM A LITTLE DREAM
Who: EVERYONE that stayed in Asgard
What: the Dream a Little Dream mingle log
When: Day 515 ( Sept. 25/26 )
Where: all across the city!
Rating: PG-13. Anything higher than that should be taken to a private log, please!
What: the Dream a Little Dream mingle log
When: Day 515 ( Sept. 25/26 )
Where: all across the city!
Rating: PG-13. Anything higher than that should be taken to a private log, please!
- Day 515 ( Sept. 25/26 )
- Progress through the ice blockade will be slow and narrow, as they can't possibly hope to clear the entirety of the forest that has been buried under Thiazi's black ice. Now that they know the source of her magic's corruption, it might not come as a great surprise when cracking open the ice unleashes a strange burst of magic.
At the halfway point between Utgard and Asgard, a pulse of energy will move through the entire city, immediately putting every mortal it touches to sleep. This part of the curse is mandatory and your character must fall asleep; the dream effects of it are not mandatory, and can be played with at your discretion. During this first wave, Travellers will be granted a brief dream - that does not belong to them. They will see, from the dreamer's point of view, every hope and goal and aspiration that the dreamer wishes to complete before the end of days. Whether it's simply confessing their love to an old friend or saving their home planet or perfecting an Asgardian pie, your character will see someone else's ideal resolution before Ragnarok. More on plotting this below!
Upon waking, the Travellers will be plagued with the indistinct whispering of several voices overlapping one another and a slight headache. Both symptoms will gradually increase over time until it reaches incapacitating pain and nausea. The only way to assuage the symptoms is to find the owner of the dream and either maintain physical contact for an hour or discuss the subject of the dream until a full confession has been made. After that, the symptoms will fade and the Travellers will be free to carry on with their day.
There will be other pulses of magic at random throughout the day; these are not mandatory and you can feel free to have your character experience as many or as few dreams as you wish. All dream-sharing will cease by the end of the day, as the blockade progresses past that centre-point of magic.
ODIN DISTRICT
lydia martin | day 515
When Lydia wakes there's confusion. Her head hurts from the sudden fall and sleepiness and her left hand is sore, and she can't help but run a finger over the graze just to make sure it's real. Something happened there - something that Lydia doesn't know what it was but she needs to find them - if they're in Asgard )
her dream.
(no subject)
Dirk Strider | Day 515 | Open
When he comes to, Dirk grabs for his shades and looks around for any damage to his surroundings. Last time he woke up from a dream, and this one wasn't his either, everything had gone to hell. Paranoid, he climbs to his feet and heads out of the building without getting what he'd went there for. There's the much more important urge to find the dreamers on his mind.
Dream 1
--
[The city stretches out below him a well constructed marvel of engineering and technology. It isn't the important part of the dreamer. To him, the fact it's in one piece and standing strong is what matters. There isn't a place that doesn't have a strip of color to it. None of the natives are pale shadows that lack features or detail. Even the weather is mild, as if the city is taking a break from any form of strife.
The dreamer runs across the rooftops at a speed a normal human can't achieve. Everything feels right with their world, and the slow down of senses and abilities are gone. They pause long enough to send a message and put the bracelet back in their pocket when they're done.
They could come and go as they please, no longer trapped. Flickers and flashes of other times where the gods and travelers discuss issues and enact plans based on the whole of the realm and nothing left in the dark, roll through like a film.
It's all mundane and that to the dreamer is everything.]
Dream 2
[They had started the session as four children who had no idea what to do and sitting ducks waiting for gods. It had all fallen apart leaving them lost until a witch sacrificed them for the sake of her own agenda.
They had risen as gods (the closest thing to it) before the alien witch continued to puppet their lives. In the dream, all these things have passed and things are alright now. A young dark haired girl sits with the dreamer on top of a floating red balloon.
They over look a wild forest of plants and exotic birds stretched out below them. "And the door?" The dreamer says, his tone casual.
"Mmm, the door is going to be opened tomorrow by all of us. We'll be free to do what we want from now on." The girl smiles, and chuckles as she adds. "This time, we won't make a mess of things! Ho ho."
He can't help but sigh. "That's because we got our heads on straight and got a few new friends." Those friends are family, to all of them. He gained two brothers, and she gained a grandfather among other things.
"It's going to be fine. Jake is scouting out the parameter of it, isn't he? We know he'll alert us if things go wrong." He trusts his best friend with his back, and the old hurts have long since faded between them.
"He still insisting on growing a mustache?" The dreamer kicks his feet as he watches the flight of a white bird far below them. "Yeah. Roxy made a fake one and Rose joined in. He still didn't get the point. By the time I walked out birdbro had settled in to watch the education hour."
It's peaceful. He doesn't exactly trust it but he trusts his friends to follow their own paths. No matter what road they walk, they're doing it as a group.]
THOR DISTRICT
Killua Zoldyck | Day 515 | Open
He has no idea what has just happened, but the pain is getting worse.
b) The second wave is just as unexpected, but at least this time he knows better than to linger in confusion waiting for the pain to build. There's no other choice, is there? He'll set off to find the owner of the new dream whether he wants to or not. This had better not keep happening.
Dream 1:
[ It's dark, nowhere in particular, just dim haze like floating. Footsteps. You're running, in that too-slow, surreal way dreams have, running from nothing in particular into nothing at all, and it's impossible to tell how long you've been here, but it feels like a long time. There are glimpses in the shadows, always just out of sight but lingering, skittering across the corners of your vision-- most of them are bloody, dead hands reaching out. They can't touch you, but they're there. They've always been there.
Go away, you yell. Go away, go away--! The darkness shifts and slides.
I don't want to do that anymore! The world disappears.
You're lying on your back now, and the brightness of the sun is jarring, blinding. You rub your eyes as you sit up and look around, confused but peaceful, hopeful, pressing fingers into the grass and taking a deep breath.
"Killua!" The voice is familiar, bright as the sunlight. A hand reaches out, tan and callused, warm. "Let's go. Come on!" It catches you by the hand, tugs you up into the brightness too, and you squeeze back. You laugh. The relief crashes in with the force of a truck, and you're laughing so much there are tears, sobs, and you reach out suddenly and you just hold him, squeezing tight, unable to stop.
Thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for coming to find me. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you so much-- ]
Dream 2:
[ His back is to you; you feel so far away. The feeling is familiar: a little lonely, a little scared. You rush to keep up. His back is to you and you're afraid he'll just keep walking and leave you behind. There's no reason to fear this, you know. There's no reason, and yet--
The boy stops, slowly turns. He's young, just a teenager, with sunkissed skin and dark hair all spiked back, hazel eyes that are so big, sincere and open. He's the opposite of what you see yourself to be; you know you don't deserve him, but he waits. He reaches out.
You hesitate, and it feels like your heart might burst through your chest, stomach doing flips, nervous and nauseated. But you have to, you have to-- You want this so much. You've wanted this for so long.
Gon?
He waits patiently, smiling, encouraging. He touches your hand.
Gon, I- I--
The butterflies are getting worse, and you're so scared, so embarrassed, face hot. Your hand moves in response, catching his, dragging him forward. Your other hand grabs his shirt. If you can't say it--throat too tight, too nervous, voice breaking--then you'll show him how you feel. How you've felt for so long. You're scared, but you want him to know.
You stretch up slightly, lean forward, and close the gap with eyes shut tight and heart beating so fast it almost hurts. You press your lips to his, clumsy with inexperience but sweet and warm and heartfelt, waiting, worried--
He kisses back. ]
b, dream 1
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
b, dream 2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Day 515 l Open
i
The first dream she has shows her life prior to the walkers. Happy. Normal. Showing her house, the art along the walls before she rushes outside, catching sight of something up a tree near her treehouse. She turns when her babysitter runs over, on the phone and trying to reassure Clementine's parents. There's a raccoon. Clementine seems excited to exclaim about it and wishes her parents goodbye after her father tells her to take care of his hat. He's lending it to her, not giving it to her to keep.
It shows her again, older this time, no longer the simple and carefree eight year old. Putting the hat to rest at a grave. She never got to properly say goodbye to her parents back home last time she saw them as walkers. Maybe she still can. Keep that promise to return her father's hat to him. The graves of Diana and Ed. And Lee.
ii
The dream starts this time with an older Clementine, the setting much more familiar to some. Asgard. They're in the paid housing in Thor still. Herself with Lee, Eight, both little and older Alice, Ellie, the Eleventh Doctor and Riley. Those she especially considers her 'family' of sorts here. All together. Safe. Happy. The war over. If life is better here, why go back? She has Lee. A chance she never expected to have after putting a bullet to his head back home. Clementine intends to stay with him as long as she can.
iii
The next setting is perhaps less ideal, but it shows something of a slum type housing around. Clementine holds a baby while a man with an eyepatch of sorts and a cap helps her feed him, passing her a bottle. They're together. Her, AJ and Kenny. It's the best she could hope for, back home. Safe behind the walls of Wellington to keep out the walkers. People, other survivors all working together. She hated leaving Kenny before even if she understood he wanted her and AJ safe. This time, Kenny is with them too. It's not ideal by any means, but it's safer than she has been in a long time since the walkers showed up. It's home. She has her 'family'. That's what matters.
dream 2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
SIGYN DISTRICT
day 515 l open
Waking up feels unsettling, and he feels as though he's been sleeping too long. His head and body ache. It felt a little irritating that he hadn't known what had just happened.
He can attempt to ignore the feeling of nausea and aches. It's hard, and his body is telling him to rest, to do something about it. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he'll set off to find the owner of who's dream he just saw. ]
[2) During the second wave Gon makes his way under a tree, being able to sleep comfortably there. He doesn't really get it, but it's just a dream, right? ]
[ dream one ]
[ The sun is shining, rising - the light breaking through what seems to be a city, people beginning to emerge from their houses. You are seen in the middle of the street, and slowly, an indescribable expression crosses over your features as a tall man with white-colored hair comes into view. A hat is shadowing his features making his expression almost unreadable, but your heart feels light - a feeling of relief and happiness washing over you when you see this man. ]
Kaito...
[ Your expression breaks - eyes reflecting a moment of sadness, before you use a free hand to wipe threatening tears from pouring from your eyes. Suddenly, you smile, despite the fact that the tears won't stop.
He's alright, he's okay! I did it! I fulfilled my promise in bringing Kaito back to normal! ]
Kaito...! I'm sorry - I'm sorry that I left!
[ You run up to the tall man, arms wide as you envelop him in a tight hug. Warm, and tight. The man is tall - far taller than you, but you don't seem to mind at all. ]
They're gone! We won, and they're all gone! Everything turned out okay, after all.
[ dream two ]
[ The wilderness is all around you and a scruffy-looking man as you run through the untamed scenery. The trees are close to one another - the animals strange, and undiscovered. Nothing about this place has been touched by people. However, it's bright, and lively.
You look to a man, expression bright and earnest. The man is rather scruffy looking - and his clothes are strange - wearing several layers despite the warmth the sunlight was providing, a hate covering his head. He smiles at you, a confident grin on his features. ]
Ging! It looks like there's something strange there. [ You point to the side, eyes full of curiosity. ] Hey, do you want to go? We might find something good.
[ dream three ]
[ This time, there isn't just you, but there's a pale, white-haired boy, a taller, older looking blonde haired male, and one other -- far taller and older looking, donned in a suit and sunglasses. This time, the sun is setting - but only clouds can be seen outside of the airship. The destination was unknown, but you don't mind much.
Your arms are spread wide, and you at the blonde-haired man. ]
Kurapika, isn't it great? You found all of your comrades eyes!
[ You turn towards the tallest of the three next ]
And, you're going to open your own clinic, huh? It looks like we've all gotten what we've set out to do. [ You feel proud - extremely happy for all of your friends and their accomplishments.
You turn towards the white-haired boy. ]
Mm, Killua and I decided to keep traveling together for as long as we can. Won't it be fun to do it all together for a while? It'll be just like the Hunter Exam.
no subject
...
When he wakes, it's to a blinding headache and visions in his head, images that don't rightly belong to him. He doesn't know what to do with them, but if the jarring pain in his head is anything to go by, he should figure out something fast. So, he stands shakily, adjusting his clothing as he stumbles through the street, searching for who the visions may have belonged to.]
Dream 1
[This dream is not a dream so much as it is a series of images. There is blood seeping out of the palm of a hand, but as it bubbles, it slowly starts retracting, pulling itself back. The fingers flex slightly as the stigmata wound consumes the blood that has spilled from it, healing over without so much as a scar. The hand folds itself into a fist.
A marble statue of Christ hangs upon a crucifix, water streaming down a pale cheek. They're in a temple of some sort, and as the time passes- days in seconds, it seems- the water evaporates back into the statue. The dreamer steps back, their field of vision widening to see what lies just behind the crucifix: two statues of pagan gods, carved from wood. The three of them stand on the altar of a nameless church together- light shines through, bathing each of them in some form of goodness.
There are more images, passing by in flashes: knees thudding against the floor, the soft sound of prayer songs, bodies burning upon funeral pyres, fingers carding through hair, images of wolves and snakes burning in the flames of a campfire. It spins and whirls without any direction, but one theme is abundantly clear: coexistence. Resolution. Peace.
And finally, a hand- Athelstan's hand, if the bandages are anything to go by- is writing a passage on a long page of parchment. The words are archaic latin, but the ink is a dark red. A ring lies around his wrist, the edges digging into his skin.]
Dream 2
[This dream is far more literal, and starts with Athelstan hunched over a desk and reading a book. His bandages are still present on his hands and feet, and the book he's reading has cracked pages, a burned spine, starkly contrasting the pristine, English building he's sitting in. He turns a page delicately, fingers drifting over the charred words there, and closes his eyes.
Priest, a voice calls, and Athelstan opens his eyes but doesn't dare to look. Priest, I have come for you.
He stands then, on hobbled feet, and turns toward the door, but the light streaming in is too bright to make out the figure standing in the doorway. Athelstan takes a step forward, and the dream ends.]
dream 1
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
D515 | Open
Ellie sits on a padded hospital bench, wearing a thin paper gown. The short sleeves show her pale, freckled arms, her thin legs and bare feet. The room is featureless and bright. She's not alone.
A kind-looking woman with a hazy, nondescript face, a white coat (a doctor, a scientist maybe, but the thought is Firefly) is holding Ellie's right forearm in both hands, running her finger along the awful, spore-ridden bite mark.
What do you think? Ellie asks her, her voice tight. There is hope in this room. A tight, desperate, commanding, soul-deep hope that seems like the center of all things. As small as it is in her voice, it is alight in her eyes, a fire long-kindled inside of her into a roaring blaze. She needs this. Everything depends on this. Everything in her life was worth it, for this.
I'm immune, so- can you do it? Make a vaccine?
I think you're exactly what we needed, the doctor responds, and her voice is little more than an echo of Ellie's own, her own need reflected and made flesh.
The relief is remarkable, earth-shattering, overwhelming.
II.
Joel's hand is warm on her shoulder.
Ellie stands in the entryway of a house, the handle of the door still in her hand. The room spreads out before her. The house itself is unremarkable. It is a series of details. A worn, comfortable couch. A bookcase. A fireplace. Warm blankets and the faint strumming of a guitar.
The world is confined to glimpses, like memories flitting into the place between sleeping and waking. Warm water, fall leaves, the sound of singing and dogs barking.
It is not so much a place as a series of impressions, of warm comfortable feelings, and that overwhelming, perfect sense of having a place to belong.
It coalesces into a perfect sunset off a back patio. A tree-dotted mountainside ringed by a hydroelectric dam, the soft lights of a makeshift village in the gathering, green-and-brown dark. The world turns orange and purple.
So.
The hand squeezes, gently, and Joel's voice is warm.
Got a verdict yet, or is that jury still out?
Ellie laughs, and knows she's home.
II.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
1
3
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
I.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Open!
[She's in the hospital when she tumbles to sleep right in the middle of the hallway. It's strange... When she awakens, she could swear she knew a number of the people she had dreamt about, and yet there were many still whom she didn't recognize that she had celebrated the end of the war with all the same.
Was it... just a dream? As much as she'd like to think so, the fact that everyone else seems to have collapsed at the same time makes her think otherwise. The bump on her head is only another painful reminder that it probably wasn't your run of the mill scenario.]
Wh-- What happened...?
[Sigyn Streets]
[It's after the second time she's out cold that she finally excuses herself and takes to the streets. She's still not really sure what's going on, but she doesn't want to cause any trouble by potentially falling asleep on a patient. Others may spot her looking faintly troubled, murmuring to herself lost in thought as she is.]
I know some of them, but who were the others...? And just what war was that...?
[It didn't seem to be the one that took place in Asgard. And the war in her own home was long over with. Was that a clue...?]
LOKI DISTRICT
near the welcome house. ota (and asuka).
the strange wave of magic catches her when her back is turned; she doesn't even have a chance. luckily, she doesn't hit her head on anything on the way down. it's almost graceful. )
her dream.
( she would have liked to see him again.
not the way she'd been seeing him in asgard. no, that was different; a shadow of a self who hinted of a lifetime lived without thinking of her. no, she would have liked to see him the way she remembered him, grabbing her hand and telling her to run. it was very dramatic, wasn't it? very him.
this meeting isn't dramatic at all. rather, they're facing each other. she's staring at him and she's not afraid; whatever had overpowered before she has completely in check. slowly, she reaches out a hand and touches his cheek. )
"You were different, you know."
( sherlock holmes doesn't answer. even in her dreams, she cannot anticipate him. she can only try. )
"I never meant for anyone to get hurt."
( least of all herself. and perhaps that's not strictly true: she had meant for mycroft to be hurt quite badly. but he wasn't anyone. and she truly did regret what had happened to sherlock, in the end. what had happened to john. she'd seen how it had destroyed them, changed them. he had changed her. )
"Take care of him."
( john, of course. she couldn't rejoin their lives; it was ridiculous to think she would ever belong, especially with a bounty on her head. no, she was gone for good. but as usual, irene adler had to have the last word. )
(no subject)
video.
video.
Re: video.
video.
video.
video.
video.
...
...
Near the welcome house OTA
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
HEIMDALL DISTRICT
John Watson | Around | OTA
His arm's probably going to be a bit stiff when he comes to. ]
Dream 1 - OTA, also for Kieran
[ There's a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room in John and Mary's flat. John sits on the couch with a baby girl in his lap. A girl who's making babbling noises that are clear attempts at words but not really getting there. Leaning against his side is Mary, stroking her hand over the girl's short hair.
On the armchair to the right sits Sherlock. There's a crease to his brow, but he has a violin in his hands, playing We Wish You A Merry Christmas. All the while he watches the girl, as she seems to be talking to him, though he doesn't respond with anything but the occasional noise in the back of his throat.
John smiles, kisses his wife's cheek and the top of the girl's head.
There's a shimmer over the scene, making it unclear, before it dissolves with the final note of the melody lingering. ]
Dream 2 - Ellie
[ It lasts no longer than a few seconds. Sherlock's bent over a microscope for a moment, but suddenly straightens and barks a "HAH" of triumph. John jumps, his heart leaps up into his throat and he holds his breath for the fraction of a second. ]
Is it ...?
[ Sherlock looks at him, and grins. "We can cure her." ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Equius's player will pull their head out of their butt finally...
Wow I am so sorry for how late this is I will pull my head out of my butt too
hehe, np
(no subject)
(no subject)
HEL DISTRICT
Pitch Black | Day 515 | Open
[He catches on the second time he falls asleep and decides to spend the rest of the day in his room when not out 'confessing', so at least he has carpet to land on. What fun.]
god I am the latest
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
open
1
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
FREYR DISTRICT
FREYA DISTRICT
Day 515
[Maribelle had just been heading out to train when the first wave struck, and she fell back, striking her head on the ground. She's uncertain as to what she sees, but it's certainly not hers. When the dream is over, she remains unconscious for a little, mostly due to the sickening crack her head had made on the pavement. IT's nothing life-threatening, thankfully, but there does seem to be a risk for exacerbating it.]
[Open]
[This time, she knows better. She sits in what passes for the common area of Freya, stubbornly refusing to stand up, lest she suffer another blow to her head and her ego.]
A
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Open to all
BALDR DISTRICT
Day 515 ( Sept. 25/26 ) - Gefion Park
I.
The sunlight dazzles her and she squints as a voice sounds. She shades her eyes and turns to find her Doctor there, golden curls ablaze, a smile to rival the sun on his face. Ril moves forward, and there's a flash of blue coat in her arms as she swings it toward him. Her momentum carries her into him and there is nothing but joy and light.
II.
"I found her, Doctor! I found Charley," she cries, her arm looped through the blonde woman's arm and her other around her waist. Charley laughs as Ril lets go and sends her toward the Eighth Doctor as he swings around. If there is nothing Ril wants more for him, it's to find his Charley, to give him what he truly wants. She watches them and smiles as she closes her eyes.
III.
The sound of the waves is loud as she opens her eyes, warm and comfortable. She recognize's the Fourth doctor's coat around her, a bit of his scarf, too, as she shifts. He is asleep, whatever dreams that play are pleasant, at least, as there's the lightest of smiles across his lips. His hat has fallen off and she reaches for it carefully. He stirs as she snags the brim and mumbles something indistinctly.
"Shh, tall man," she murmurs. "I have found your hat, sleep more." Ril gently replaces his hat to shade his eyes, and places a careful kiss against his cheek before curling up against him. There's a second more of mumbling, but he settles and she is content to half doze against him.
IV
In front of her is Antedis as it once was many ages ago, the blue and gold tipped grasses high. Her fingers brush out and send bright bits of light scattering into the cool air as a lazy skyspinner twists through the air. She can hear birds, not the davit birds of the new era, but bright, clear melodies, complex and interweaving. The glow of her wings as she spreads them is bright, and she stands on a hill overlooking the city below, with its gleaming crystalline spires that stretch high above the massive forests that her folk call her home. Ril turns to an indistinct shape beside her with a hum.
"This time, it will be different."
III
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
II
(no subject)
515 - gefion park or the apothecary - ota
apothecary
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
around town, basically open!
The first thing Yosuke does on jolting awake is sit up so quickly he hits the back of his head on the wall he'd forgotten he was leaning against. The second thing he does is wince. But the third thing is the one he'd intended to do first: a convulsive grab for the collar of his shirt.
Nothing is draped around it except his ever-present headphones. He catches himself breathing a sigh of relief, and immediately wonders why.
Then he catches something else. Maybe the flash of colour is what he's looking for, maybe it's only a fluttering curtain or a trick of the light. Whatever it is, it's close enough to bring all the other colours from a moment ago rushing back. The pure black of space emptier than any night sky, the pinpoints of light that became white-hot streaks as they coursed past, the vibrant blue of... of...
Without thinking, let alone remembering what he was doing before he blacked out, Yosuke hops to his feet - but his impulsive cry of "Hey, wait...!" quickly tapers off into an awkward silence only a couple of steps after he starts to run. What is he doing, actually? And what's that he can hear? Is somebody watching?
[B: some other street, later]
The next pulse is just as much of a surprise as the first. If his mind wasn't a world away, Yosuke would consider this unfair. As is, its absence, a slippery smattering of autumn leaves underfoot and some unfortunate timing has left him more or less folded over the side of a large wheelbarrow.
It might take some careful manoeuvring to disentangle him from it without running one of his feet over. It might be more entertaining to wait and see.
The chubby-looking reinhare that had been fluttering alongside him until a minute ago alights on his shoulder, wrinkling its nose in disapproval.
[C: (initially?) closed to Maribelle]
But even Yosuke can learn to recognise a nuisance when it hits him - it just doesn't help him avoid them. For what feels like the millionth time, nursing a fresh bruise along his elbow, he groggily pushes himself upright. He's positive he recognised one or two of the details that time. If he doesn't want to give himself another splitting headache, all he has to do is...
...well, that's the problem.
He does reach for his bracelet at first, but hesitates, nervously glancing up and down the street in case anybody is paying attention. The other times all seemed to be coincidences, so... the same goes for this one, doesn't it? Coincidence, and nothing more.
[C]
"Yes?"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
B
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
(B)
sorry for the late!
No worries!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
AT THE BLACK ICE | Closed to Pitch
[ If most dreams begin with a going-under, this is the opposite. This is a gasp. The first images sting, as if composed of light or air: Hel house's scab of a jewel set into a bracelet loose around a child's wrist, a skinny girl rocking back on her heels to free an ax from a chopping block, a man still swimming in his own frame and wearing a cheerfully ugly shirt drawing a finger across his right breast. “All the teenagers of the world are in revolt,” you say, past and present doubling in that instant. Humidity weighs the air; a handmade wallet rides in your back pocket.
You don't know the feeling for relief when it happens. It feels like giving up, a phantom weight still dragging at you. They vanish as one. The kids who learned to form ranks, wipe their knives clean after killing. Kids who packed their featureless welcome hall rooms with pets. The ones who think death is elastic, who turn up on the network and look to the side before announcing a departed friend's name, who curse effortlessly.
They're gone. You try to dwell in this sensation, try to shape home in your thoughts. No longer a red door. No longer a clipped lawn. A bed—and you veer to Asgard.
In their absence, the city looks bleak. You put your back to it to fight. ]
no subject
[Years seem to pass in the dream, very very quickly. It's no time at all to one enjoying himself and not being human. Humanity clings to life and slowly recovers, living as they did back in the Dark Ages. Prodded along, helped by you, the Boogeyman Pitch Black, whispering to them constantly around the world, spreading phobias and terror and sometimes common sense fears in adults and children alike. And he eats that fear, growing stronger and stronger. It's not a happy life for humanity, but it is a life, and he loves it. He has no enemies besides the moon, and it can't see what he's doing.]
[But the dream has to end eventually. Wake up!]
(no subject)
so so late :<
NO WORRIES I'M JUST AS BAD
(no subject)
at the ice. | ota.
her dream.
( this dream is happy. or at least, it feels calm. the sun is shining and waves lap at a pristine white beach, the sound soothing. it's jarring in contrast to what they had just been experiencing in asgard. slowly the scene shifts to two beach chairs, alone, and a man and a woman sitting in them. she's laughing, the kind of laugh that you only show to your friends, and the man is smiling. they're both holding drinks, and he's in swim trunks; she's in a delicate black bikini with scars all over her stomach and arms. she doesn't seem to be self conscious.
"how long do you think we can stay here without fury calling us back?" her voice is soft, almost as though it'd ruin the moment. the man laughs.
"are you a super spy or what? i thought you said you covered our tracks."
"you underestimate him. losing his eye hasn't made him any less perceptive."
"maybe you just underestimate yourself."
the woman smirks, raising her glass to her friend. on a table behind her is a gun and a bow, abandoned in the sunlight. the scene fades out. )
no subject
A boom and a crack that does nothing for his headache and he decides to stroll in the opposite direction, a dream coalescing in his mind. At first he can't turn his thoughts from the drinks: what kind, how cold, how welcome. He's only started to consider the rest when he comes across Natasha. ]
I didn't know you were here. [ He offers her a hand up, expression at once quizzical and pleased. It almost suits the elaborately curled mustache that's been inked on his face. ]
the dream
[ You stand shoulder to shoulder with her, your feet sinking into bright white carpet. “I got it,” she laughs, gathering the box in her arms. Her hair's still blonde, alight in this sun-favored room. Her eyes are more serious, unflinching sometimes. She's taller than you ever imagined. Older. More beautiful.
Something rattles in the box and worry must flicker over your face because she arches her eyebrows at you as she walks past.
You lower yourself to a seat at the edge of her bed. That box was the last: everything left in the room is a childhood relic. The pillow shaped like a lion's face, its pink felt tongue. The framed silhouette with its traces of baby fat over her bed. “Dad.” She shoves at your shoulder and you scoot over. She sighs as she sits, a theatrical show of satisfaction. You share a silence.
“I have family out there. Remember Stephanie?”
“Yeah.” She looks at you like she's remembering something else. Hesitates. “Are you Don or are you Dick?”
“It doesn't matter,” you say, a truth that's always been confined to San Pedro. Now, timidly, it expands. “Both.”
You pull her close as you kiss her you think of the ocean, think that maybe she's joining as much as leaving you. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Sherlock's dream | For the 4th Doctor - message me if you want to get the dream too
Then the world unravels. Rearranges. The buildings dissolve and re-form, the roof he’s standing on becomes one floor of a low-rent high-rise; four walls and a window surround him. Sherlock turns away from the window, and your view extends away from him over what you may (or may not) recognize as Shanghai.
Your view zooms farther outward, and the city is revealed to be balanced on a thin, clear thread, and the thread is part of a spiderweb, and one by one in rapid succession, the strands are cut.
The web blows away in a sudden breeze, becomes nearly invisible as it’s carried away, until a passing car strikes it and it’s obliterated, gone. You’re in London now, looking in on a second story window. The scene behind it shifts before your eyes: there's Sherlock playing the violin, there's Sherlock and John dancing (Sherlock leading, John trying to follow), there's an empty room with a single rose in a vase displayed in the window, there's John typing at his laptop while Sherlock arrives home and hangs up his coat.
The dream doesn't linger on any of these scenes for any longer than the others: the effect, in total, is the sense of a life lived. The one he hasn't got a chance to, yet.
no subject
He almost isn't going to pay the dream any attention, at first. It's the spiderweb that changes his mind. A single city - which he recognizes as being an Earth city, at the very least - perched on a web that could so, so easily be the Web of Time. The web that holds all of existence balanced, and it's disturbing on a level he likely wouldn't even be able to articulate to see the strands neatly severed one by one.
He doesn't have time to dwell on it, as the dream rolls on, and when he finally wakes from his unexpected he's not sure what to make of it. He'd not missed the sense of a life well-lived, but he's never known the people. And yet he wonders, sometimes, what sort of lives his companions might have had if not for him. What kind of lives they've lived after they'd parted ways.
He tells himself that's why he starts looking for the person who belongs to the dream, as opposed to the the headache and voices that set in shortly after he wakes. The only problem is how anyone finding the owner of any single dream, more so when he takes it for John's dream, instead of Sherlock's; when he does finally come across Sherlock in the streets of the city, he pauses only out of a vague sense of curiosity, unasked questions plain on his face as he stands there.
(He's never really expected to need to ask strangers about dreams, and he's not even thinking that Sherlock could be the person he needs.)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
at the ice; ota
He isn't expecting there to be a pulse of magic that knocks him out. ]
his dream:
Kieran dreams of the desert.
It's unsurprising, as the desert is all he knows outside of Asgard. Despite the relentless heat of the sun he's dressed practically head to toe in black leather, hair down and eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. The dappled horse he's riding doesn't seem to mind the heat either, trotting contentedly through the stubble of plant life and cracked earth. Their companions (a redhead in denim and a jacket the color of desert sand, and his respective mount) trail several lengths behind.
The dream accelerates, as dreams sometimes do. Not by speeding the scene up but by suddenly being hours ahead, granting the dreamer short flashes of how they got there. There were streams along the way, and a rattlesnake, and laughter. And now they're on the side of a rocky hill, or maybe the short end of a mountain, at what used to be a garden. It's destroyed, now, torn apart and washed away by what must have been a terrible storm. If they mucked it out, perhaps something could grow again... but that doesn't seem to be their first priority. They dismount their horses (Kieran far more gracefully) and make their way to the broad mouth of a cave. Massive, nearly a hundred feet wide and twenty high, the opening bolstered with manmade pillars. There's no one here, but there obviously used to be.
Inside it's dim, but a stream of water runs out from the darkness between the pillars and Kieran smiles at this. He grabs a handful of brush from the garden and sweeps a thick layer of dirt from the stone floor, as if searching for something… A mosaic appears beneath his efforts and Kieran whispers something, rinsing his brush in the stream and flicking the water over the tiny colored stones. The walls of the cave light up, glowing with writings and drawings that the guests of this dream can't read. It seems that the redhead knows what it is, though, and as he busies himself with a notebook and pencil Kieran ventures deeper into the cave.
Deep, deep down a narrow tunnel plunging straight into the rock, Kieran follows the glow until he comes to a makeshift room, its interior pitch black and its threshold half-blocked by rocks. He nudges enough aside to enter the darkness and pulls a torch from his jacket pocket, lights it, holds the light up, and stares into his own face.
The room is full of ancient gold and relics, but the statue is what Kieran is here for. It's life sized and nearly identical to him, carved with great skill out of limestone and carefully painted and adorned to look alive. Its eyes even match Kieran's, shining green gems reflecting his torchlight. The stone hair hangs in traditional braids, its mouth curved in a smirk that matches the one Kieran is giving it at that moment.
He steps back, pulling a pistol from his belt with his free hand. Without comment or hesitation Kieran pulls the trigger, the shot impossibly soundless but true. His face shatters into a dust and bits of painted rock, and his torch goes out.
The dream ends. ]
at the ice | day 515
So when the first wave hits, he's konked out immediately. And he soon starts to dream...]
His dream
Compared to the ice they were dealing with, this dream felt warm. Cherry blossoms fluttered around, as the first day of school starts. He's dressed in his old Gekkoukan uniform, hands in pockets as he walks toward the entrance. By his side is a teen his age, not wearing his uniform properly, opting for suspenders and a bright yellow scarf. The two of them exchange banter for a while, before being joined by their classmates: Aigis, Yukari, Junpei, Fuuka... Even the seniors decided to come by: Mitsuru, Akihiko, Shinjiro. Ken and Koromaru stop by too. Even the Investigation Team also show up: Souji, Yosuke, Kanji, Naoto, Chie, Yukiko, Rise and Teddie...some he'd barely met them and two he'd never met before, but they felt fresh in his memories.
Words are exchanged among the group. About how humanity has changed for the better. The world no longer yearns for death. Now everyone is searching for their life's meaning. And with Erebus eliminated for good, that meant a Seal wasn't necessary anymore. So he and Ryoji could do as they please. There are glimpses of a few male students bantering, a shy bespectacled Treasurer discussing something with the Disciplinarian in Student Council, an old couple and their persimmon tree, a girl playing at a shrine while a frail young man watches from a shaded bench. A businessman hosting his latest product, while a retired monk passed by with his family.
Indeed, this dream is about the world he'd protected...one he could now rejoin with new memories.
how did I miss this I am so sorry
As much as he wanted to share in that warmth, he couldn't lie here in the ice for long. He begins to sit up and look around warily, wondering just why he had seen a dream that clearly had not been his.]
it's fine better late then never
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
at the ice ; OTA (dream)
The deep lull of his voice helps her sleep at night, but each time she falls asleep, it is the same situation over and over again.
You can't always be there for them.
She's been told this several times and each time, she's been stubbornly childish to ignore it. A child who built up her house again with the letter blocks, gingerbread, and the doll furniture up again. It is the world of a child, a world of nonsense, but there are elements that do not make it a child's dollhouse. There are items suiled in blood and soot, charred faces and playing cards askew all over. There is a hole here in which a family once stood, figures that stand here now are not the same people, but a voice is so very much like her father's, that it's hard to ignore. Sometimes they blur together in her mind when she's broken and brittle from the harsh realities of the world.
But the fear is still there. After ten long years in padded rooms, being poked, prodded, shocked, and whipped as a child, she'll do anything to keep them there. They do not know that she is very willing to spill blood to keep them there. They must stay here. If they were to go into darkness, she would follow, without a care to her own being so that she can keep them safe and intact.
It's like gluing back the broken porcelain faces that haunt this dollhouse.
These visions... often they blur together. Every so often, it's hard to tell reality from dreams and vice versa. It is an old dollhouse, broken and worn, that once belonged to a child but now belong to the adult who's grown up to be just as twisted as the fleshy limbs on dolls. ]
with apologies for my own slowness
He wakes up cold, having collapsed among the ice after the first pulse, disoriented, his head fuzzy. He sits up, feels a dull pulse in the area of his frontal lobe, and squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, waiting for it to pass.
He normally doesn't dream so intensely. The images normally pass a second after he opens his eyes.
These won't go away.
The headache recedes enough for him to blink his eyes open. He stands, adjusting his coat around himself. All around, people are making their own way to their feet. He wasn't the only one -- something happened here.]