tushanshu_logs | Event | Landfall

Event | Landfall | Dreaming

Characters: Any and every!
Date: August 10th - 31, 2013
Location: The realm of Dreaming as accessed via Sinbrilee
Situation: Dreaming is but one of the three realms and here characters are subject to their fanciful thoughts.
Warnings/Rating: Please place content warnings in subject headers!

Sinbrilee | Dreaming | Death

Life. Dreaming. Death. Three realms overlaid upon one another and yet each distinctly their own. They dwell in Life and do so live upon the back of the great turtle as those of Sinbrilee did upon the shell of his sister. However, there stand numerous arches of marble throughout the ruined city that are inlaid with runes beyond understanding. Those that live and breathe which step through those whose runes glow with faint, iridescent light tread instead into the realm of Dreaming.

Here, there exists no single defining characteristic beyond the visitor's imagination. The landscape sculpts to their individual thoughts, the events to their dreams. From a drab gray nothing to the most brilliant of displays, the senses perceive all that they wish to perceive for all that nothing here truly exists. This far from Tu Vishan, the ability to shape their surroundings is all they have, for Sinbrilee's Dreaming does not have the energy to sustain powers, only the bodies of those that dwell here.

Should two parties near, then the Mesh begins. Dreams, you see, not only can be shared, but they strive to be. These visions sculpted into reality reach out for one another and blend. They begin an exchange akin to a linking of the minds, within which one visitor can learn the other's deepest thoughts. Their limitation is but compatibility, for two minds that cannot flow upon the same current cannot hold the Mesh.

Happiness or loss, the landscape and events play out memories and fancies with a most convincing air. The mood rises and falls with the tide of the visitor's mind, detached as they are from the soothing influence of a great turtle's mind. Nothing here, however, is real; 'constructs' simply fade if taken through the archways and even the greatest scientific minds or tools will reveal nothing of its source. This is an ancient magic of an ancient realm, long practised in concealing itself from any prying.

Note: Due to the fluid and highly individual nature of Dreaming, no official subheaders will be provided in the comments of this post. Feel free to post and thread however you like, so long as the rules of Dreaming are adhered to.

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[ She doesn't have much experience with anger, maybe once or twice in her life. The problem with being so absolutely in control of her situation is that she can mold everything to suit her exactly. If she wants to miss traffic she simply understands the traffic patterns and knows when to travel. So the Archive doesn't understand anger except through memories, and emotions are weakened a bit when passed along. Even though she knows it's not that way, to some extent she feels as if anger is a switch that can be flipped on and off.

But he acknowledges her power, and she smiles broadly at it. He's strong and the fact that he respects it (to some extent at least) means a lot to her. Since this is her dream, there are even tiny little flowers, the kind for making daisy chains, popping up in the grass around the field. She is a fourteen year old girl at heart, and that happiness is beginning to invade the original memory. ]

I bet if you hit me as hard as you could I would slide a few inches. You're really strong. But that aside, you are nice. You helped me get back to my apartment and even got hurt doing so. You didn't need to do that, but you did.

No. It is not what I am to do with my life. You would not look at an ant and or bee and strive or desire to do that because it's not what you are. While I am human, I have never expected myself to behave and live the same way they do.

[ It's not exactly true. There is one thing she wants, but it's the most impossible: a daughter. Yes she has a mother, but she wants to be a daughter the way other girls are, with a mother who brushes and braids their hair and picks out their clothes. She knows all the dreams that her mother had for the two of them, all the things they would do together and where the pictures would sit on the mantle. But that never came to pass, not one day of it, and so it's the most impossible dream of them all. ]

[ All she can do is stare. It simply isn't anything she could ever fathom, and that is enough to completely stun her. Her attention is always focused on Earth, on humanity, and she so rarely turns her gaze to space. It's even so shocking that it's not something her child self is equipped to deal with, and it banishes the memory so by the time he looks back at her, she's fourteen again, visibly stunned.

She walks forward until her toes are at the very edge of the door frame and she stops there, unable to step any further. Unconsciously her hands reach for the door frame to grip it for safety, her usual smoothness completely paralyzed by fear. It's endless and for all the stars it has, it's empty to her. She doesn't even know if her powers work in space, and she wonders if this is where they live. The things she lives to destroy exist outside of her universe, and perhaps this could be it.

Kyle is grinning and excited, but she can't see anything but fear in front of her, and she doesn't know how to cope with it. This is her Achilles heel, being overwhelmed by emotions she's not capable of dealing with and grinding to a complete stop. Belatedly the Archive realizes that she's been standing there for a while, gripping the door frame as if her life depends on it, and she finds a shaking voice to call out in. ]

I'm not sure I should. I can't.

Yes. I don't really know your father that well. [Or at all, but she knows bits and pieces about him.] But I've heard about you, so I thought it best to look after you. Where does your father usually go?

Marius squeezes his eyes shut in the same manner, willing the macabre image of Javert away, and he refuses to open them even when the scent of lavender tickles at his ~~passionate~~ nostrils and the cool breeze causes a slight tremble in his body.

It is only when Javert's voice echoes in his ears that he pries his eyes open, slowly at first, peering through the slits to see if the bruises are still present on the monsieur's body. Once he realizes they are gone, he releases a long-held breath and takes in the surroundings, his gaze resting on the flowers as he wraps his arms around himself. Cosette would have liked them, he thinks. She could already envision her frolicking in the midst of the beautiful flowers, hair loose, her gentle curls dancing in the wind, a smile like that of an angel on her face, her white dress ballooning as she twirls.

He fails to note the arch that Javert had spotted however, and is only snapped back to the present when he feels the heavy grip near his collarbone. Before he can manage a word out he is yanked to somewhere, and he can do little but allow a tiny yelp to escape him as he lets himself be dragged along.

His eyes dart everywhere as he tries to keep up, and when he raises them to the sky, a particular swirling cloud of pale pink catches his attention. He blinks, once, then reflexively gasps as it begins to transform itself. Eyes, first, wide and pretty, then a delicate mouth, then arms and the outline of a face and hair, until it has turned into a sculpture of a girl in a pretty dress and a bonnet.

He could hardly believe what he is seeing. "Cosette?"

He does not even shrug off Javert's hand when he abruptly breaks into a run, right in the direction of the archway, his eyes still fixed on the distant cloud.

He always told me he went to watch a tower. ['The Watchtower'] But I don't know which tower.

Dorian laughs, and it's the laugh that is vivid and bright, not the other one. "Oscar always did prefer blondes—for his boys, at least. Perhaps he had a premonition of Bosie."

The song continues on, that rugged, rocker's voice carrying out over the piers. Outside, scuffles start breaking out. But in here? Here, in this room decorated in fading Victorian glamour, it is peaceful.

"Have you ever heard of the Gravediggers?" Dorian's fingers tap his teacup along to the beat by a conscious choice. "I assume not. I'm not sure if they even exist in your universe, and even if they did, they fell back into obscurity after Otto died. Otto's voice aside, I never really liked their music."

Tannhäuser starts, and the violence stops.

"You really should go back, Bruce."

Edited 2013-08-31 06:40 (UTC)

Dorian appraises the sight. "No wonder you like your Lord Jagged. Are all people at the End of Time as interested in the United Kingdom as you and your friend?"

But excitement bites at his nerves. Something new—an illusion of it, but still, an illusion founded in a reality. Dorian has come around from envying that he can't have this to delighting in knowing it exists somewhere.

[Just when it seems impossible for Costigan's frown to deepen, it develops into something new and impressively displeased. After a beat, his attention returns to the creature and he finally tugs it completely free. The Bostonian straightens with the thing still in his hands, turning it over to examine it as he listens to her response.]

A 'breach?' [A short glance, then back to poking at the thing.]

The undercover moves quickly and easily with him, grateful that the kid's memory is good enough to have the wherewithall to know where his is. Especially after a prison environment. Really, the kid's lack of questioning and general demeanor make Costigan wonder just how much he's been through and if he's had his own unspoken experiences. Regardless, now is not the time to ask and, instead, he keeps his mouth shut and just obeys the kid's lead.

"Why did you stop?" He asks quietly, pulling up beside the man.

Costigan is far too oblivious of Tony's personality to catch the nuances of all his strange or impressive behavior. Instead, he only takes note of the escalating inebriation and continued pursuit of excitement. The man is most likely suffering a lack of fulfillment and heightened self doubt, manifesting in his misguided humor and vast consumption. He's practically declaring his deep-seeded issues to anyone all too familiar with the condition, like a Southie kid with a handful of Irish uncles.

"I'll follow you," he replies with a light smile, already moving away from the bar. It's a light way of dismissing the idea of being the man's date, uncertain whether it was meant to be a joke or sincere. Costigan's fairly confident that he leaves nothing about his sexuality open to questioning, but he'd hate to offend the guy and end up lost and alone in whatever the hell this place is.

A strange, unnatural creature pops in and out of presence and Dorian can't find it in him to be surprised. Even when reality cracks before him.

Is he really that old now? Dorian wonders. An unpleasant thought.

"I won't have much to do with their sort, given a choice." He puts his hands in his coat pocket (a greatcoat he bought in 2006) and glances around. "Time to find the exit, I think."

She glances to Lara then looks back to Jor-El. Not yet familiar with the whole dreaming concept in its entirety, Hayley is uncertain as to who or what Lara is exactly and that makes her less willing to doubt the woman's genuineness. At least aloud. What if she's an alien, playing on their weaknesses? Announcing her fraudulence seems like a poor way to remain diplomatic. Of course, she might be leaving Jor-El in a dangerous situation, but it's not really Hayley's job to worry about that and she trusts the man to take care of himself.

"I'm just saying.. you never really know how long you have, you know?"

The Watchtower. [Okay, she's not sure she can get Zatanna there. Let's try for a simpler place.] What about your home? Think he might be there?

Hayley's momentary surprise at Bruce's leading their way into something else disappears as quickly as it comes, leaving only fear and a delayed rage in its wake, an anger desperate for the catalyst to unleash it. For now, she focuses on trying to seal that fear within its proper mental box, denying and rejecting it as she always does. Her attention goes only just beyond her physical reach to include the man in front of her, protecting her in a way she never expected from him.

For those reasons, it takes her a moment to recognize and accept their new surroundings. She can't help but admire Bruce's ease and levelheadedness throughout the entire process, though she'll likely never admit as much. It's something to aspire to in a twisted way, a level of apathy and control that, at her age, she can only dream of. Perhaps it's his love affair with science that seems to help.

Hayley steps forward with a hesitation that makes her residual fear known. Instead of caring, her focus has shifted to the other figure in the lab with them. Who could be so important to Bruce to merit a place in his serenity? She wants answers, but respects the man's efforts too much to immediately turn on him in such a fashion. Because she knows that's what her questions are, an unwelcome intrusion, even the most innocuous ones.

Finally turning to look at Bruce, her expression is a strong and mostly successful attempt at a neutrality that would be impossible for most her age. Some signs of her deep fury are visible in the edges of her eyes and the lines of her posture, inconsolable after such violation and vulnerability. But she's trying, focusing on Bruce.

Her gaze drifts to where their hands meet and she stares at the touch for a moment as if the entire concept is foreign to her before looking away, not breaking the contact. He's her lightning rod in the present storm, grounding her amidst overwhelming odds.

She can't help that the vision of the small, crying child returns to her mind. That she wonders if it's Bruce, that she wants to know why he reacted so quickly to everything. Her thoughts drift back to their last real conversation and, thinking aloud, without a mind to the consequences, she says, "It's not an excuse to be a monster. You being abused. You have to realize that."

She says it as if she knows that he already does realize the truth of the matter, not as if he needs to.

Hayley tenses from her position by the stereo when she hears the sound of Jeff falling from the trap, quirking her head to listen more closely. When she hears what sounds like his then falling to the floor, it does little to comfort her fears. Even though she knows this situation has already happened, that she has already won, some part of her is afraid that this version might play out differently, that he might escape. Any version of this man going on to hurt more people seems glaringly unacceptable.

She turns around casually at the sound of his voice, giving a shrug. The girl intentionally takes her time in moving to the couch in the middle of the room, then gestures that he should take the chair against the wall beside him. "If you want to sit and talk, we can sit and talk. But that does involve you.. actually sitting."

Hayley's right there with him - physically, at least - as they vacate the forest and begin making their way into the more constructed areas of the camp. That is, until he mentions his brother. Then she stops dead to stare at him, glancing around awkwardly, as if some invisible force might back her up on just how crazy he sounds. When she finds no support in the emptiness surrounding them, her eyes return to him and she simply shakes her head. Then continues to follow.

She's just going to pretend it's all true and keep asking a million questions. That seems easier. "So do the different gods fight about their.. realms or whatever? Like Poseidon and Neptune with the sea. And I totally get why you wouldn't really like them, if what Luke said is true. It's pretty cool that you still help out."

There's a pause, as if she might not say any more, but then she adds, "Okay, how do you have a cyclops for a brother?"

It takes him a couple of seconds to realise that she's stopped, and it doesn't quite click for him as to why just yet. So he waits patiently, figuring it's just a reaction from Apollo's cabin shining a gaudy gold in the sunlight or something. She should be able to see all the cabins now, although some of them are hazier than the others. The two most clearly defined are Poseidon's and Athena's, not that Hayley knows that yet. One is a low, solid cabin, constructed out of gray rock with sea shells and coral growing from the surface. The other is a blue and gold building with an owl carved over the doorway. Percy heads for the former.

He doesn't seem to have any problem answering her questions, almost enjoying the opportunity to talk about his home. "The only ones who are really likely to fight seriously are the Big Three. Poseidon, Zeus, and Hades. When I first started finding all this out, Zeus was getting ready to go to war with my dad, because he thought that I'd stolen his lightning bolt. And then Hades was about to jump in because he thought I'd stolen his helm. It's a fight that would've spilled over into the mortal realm. The others fight, too, but their arguments usually only affect a few mortals. Not whole countries."

The bitterness is back briefly, but Hayley's next question banishes it again. His face might turn a little red, but he's obviously amused. "Technically, he's my half brother. Cyclops' are born from, um, my dad and nymphs. They usually get left on the streets and grow up homeless. I met Tyson when I was thirteen, and he ended up in Camp with me. Dad claimed him. I was probably kind of a brat about it at first, but...he's my brother." A simple shrug.

I don't know. It might be nice, you know? Being an ant or a bee. Not having to worry about the choices you make, because that's already been sorted out for you. On the other hand, depending on how hard you believe in fate, maybe that's already what humans are.

[She pauses, eyeing the girl and her work for a moment] This is a very philosophical conversation to be having over such a great set of crayons. You don't have to, but would you mind if I drew something?

There's sense in her words, even if he doesn't want to listen just yet. He knows deep down that he wouldn't even remotely be where he is now without everything that's happened, but there are a lot of times when he wonders if the place he would've been at would've been a lot better.

"I guess. It just seems really....unfair."

That sounds lame and childish and he knows it but that's pretty much how he feels about a lot of things. It's unfair that he gets to live while Cassie doesn't, it's unfair that Reed gets to take his entire family with him on vacation while he's stuck with a bunch of kids that don't even listen to him. It's all just...unfair.

But that seems a dumb thing to be stuck on, so he refocuses his attention on Dinah and the dream.

"Are they all still around at least? Maybe not here but, y'know," there's an accompanying vague hand gesture "back home?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were with me," he says, glancing over. "Didn't want to leave you behind. Ready to get out of here?"

Because he knows for sure that he is. Environments like this can be uncertain in the best of circumstances, and he tends to feel that 'the depths of someone's subconscious or imagination' are not the best of circumstances.

Not without me.

[This much, at least, was true; unsurprisingly, the house of one of the greatest magic users in the world would be protected enough from outside supernatural influences that it would have been the safest place to leave his daughter. Certainly safer than a public mall.]

Oh god. What did you do with crying like that? He stood there awkwardly for a moment, because he didn't know this girl (he thought), and here she was, crying hard. He could sympathize, but it wasn't in him to comfort some random kid who probably still had her parents and still had some sort of support network.

He finally placed his hand on her head. "It's not that bad. She's not alone right now, you know, so you don't have to cry about that." While true, it was a little insensitive to the reasons that she was crying: a dead parent, a poor animal alone, most kids would naturally cry over something like that.

But not Mako.

But she deserved something, for helping him stay warm by giving him her jacket and mittens, so he couldn't just stand there and do nothing. Besides, he wanted to cheer her up, as weird as that was to him, it made total sense at the time.

Vaguely. The Scarab knows it and I sort of... feel where you should be going. Turn left. I think.

[The tapping is getting louder. Turns out he was right.]

It's not the pyramids that gets me, unless I didn't know I was scared of them. It's the not knowing where I'm going. Or where I am. [He doesn't know how to explain that in a way that makes sense. That'll have to do.]

"Oh. Well, good." She flashes Annabeth a bright smile, warm and hopeful, even if she's cut off from her abilities here. Vanessa is still a goddess of hope, regardless of what the Death plane tried to tell her. "You're not going to fall, Annabeth." There's a beat, though, because this is more than just a dream to her friend.

She gets that now. This must have been whatever she'd seen with the Emperor, what her and Percy and the others have been dealing with. She spares one last glance down into the darkness.

"You're not going to fall again. Not this time." And then she nods. "Duh. All we have to do is climb, right? Can you climb? I don't know if I'm really strong enough to do the whole piggy back thing, dream or not."

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Event | Landfall | Dreaming

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let me know if you'd like me to edit or assume anything

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