applesaucedream | Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

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Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

The woods are dark and deep, but not particularly lovely. If anything, they feel dangerous, as if something terrible might come lurching out from behind any given tree and tear into the nearest warm body. What that terrible thing might be is anyone's guess. A cat with hands? Slenderman? Stegosaurus? Actual cannibal Shia LaBeouf? All of the above in a horrible mob? It's anyone's guess. But every dreamer will be absolutely convinced that there is something unspeakable out there, and that it's after them.

The dreamers have two things on their side. The first is that there is actually nothing dangerous lurking in these woods (with the possible exception of other dreamers). The pervasive terror the dreamers are feeling is just that: a rift-given feeling, nothing more and nothing less. That snapping twig or rustle in the undergrowth is almost certainly just a squirrel or something else equally harmless.

The second is that no dreamer is alone. They all will be reunited with - or introduced to - their dæmons, a source of comfort in this dark, intimidating wilderness. However frightened the dreamers might be, at least they have someone with them who definitely doesn't want them dead.

[OOC: as ever, any and all are welcome! You don't have to be in the game to join the fun. Dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. And the party only stops when you want it to; feel free to backtag forever.]

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What's this, where is all this forest coming from? This isn't any memory of hers, Calliope is very sure of that; she's never even seen a forest in person. Which might be a splendid change of scenery, a miraculous respite from her terribly monotone and terribly lonely hideout... if she didn't suddenly get the sinking feeling that something is going horribly wrong.

She looks around at the dark and gloomy scene, forked white tongue flicking nervously between her fangs as she valiantly tries not to give into the growing sense of being watched, being pursued. Not that those are new feelings by any means; she can't rightly remember how long it's been since she had last felt reasonably safe. But this is worse somehow, like something is right there, like it's found her, and the only comfort is the conviction that if her brother had really found her, he wouldn't be hiding in the shadows. He'd come out to gloat, to savour his victory and laugh at her before finally killing her for good. Somehow this thought isn't making her feel better at all, and she starts to tremble a little.

For a startled moment she thinks, no, hopes, that the sudden rustling at her feet is caused by her own anxious shaking, but a fearful glance at the ground confirms that it's something else. Something smooth, and white, and... peeking at her out of lime green eyes? A small ball python is cautiously raising its head at Calliope, dead leaves slipping off its shiny, almost iridescent skin as it slithers forward.

"Hullo," the snake ventures, and his voice is high but just about boyish enough to be recognizable. "It's lovely to meet you." Calliope, immediately enchanted by the creature, can't help offering a clawed hand to him and the snake stretches eagerly to reach up and wrap around her arm. "Oh, likewise, darling," she says, still startled and anxious, but suddenly feeling much less scared. She's not sure at all who and what this little dear is - none of the instructional material ever mentioned tiny talking white snakes! - but right now she is just incredibly grateful for the company.

"You know this is still a dream, don't you?" The snake points out helpfully, and although he doesn't clarify, she knows right away what he's getting at. Of course, ever since her death she's done nothing but shape and change dream bubbles according to her imagination. This dream feels too big and alien to influence it properly, but she should still be able to make small changes. Like arming herself against whatever is out there. What a practical, clear-headed reptile! "Oh my, I've been rather silly, haven't I", she agrees and reaches beneath her emerald coat to pull out her white wand. Deciding that it does not have the sort of firepower she may come to need here, she switches to her trusty white magnum, while the snake slithers up her unoccupied arm to comfortably drape around her neck. So fortified, Calliope sets out into the woods in search of whatever or whoever is behind this strange dream bubble.

The Doctor is doing much the same--exploring the woods, knocking on trees, scuffing piles of leaves, and just generally covering an absurd amount of ground on long legs. There has to be a point to this forest, a hypothesis he has expounded on greatly and with very many nouns. The owl is starting to look overwhelmed and underconvinced.

He's at a point in the investigative process that doesn't involve much awareness of things below eye height, which on him is quite a ways up, when he nearly trips over Calliope in the dark. Easy mistake, green child, dark foggy woods, could happen to anyone. Green child? With a gun? And a snake. Why does it have to be snakes?

The Doctor immediately puts himself on her eye level for maximum goggleability, legs bent in ways that physics would disapprove of. "You're very green," he says, very solemn and observant. "Don't shoot me." The owl looks very relieved to be off the audience hook, inasmuch as that's possible for an owl.

Calliope is so startled by nearly being knocked over by something very very tall and very very dark that for a moment she simply stares back at the strange man, while her new reptilian friend hisses angrily and curls himself into a defensive necklace. But as soon as she hears green, her empty black eyes widen in horror. Oh no, oh no, he's seen her, how perfectly dreadful, how shameful. Immediately she wills herself to look more presentable; lovely gray skin and white hair and curly orange horns to hide her monstrous bald green skull.

Only, when she glances at her claws holding her gun (not pointed at her opponent but not exactly lowered either), they're still as ugly as ever. Why didn't she change?! Gripped by a flash of terror and shame, she squeaks and scurries behind the nearest tree. "Don't look at me!" she shouts, voice high-pitched and shaky in a panicked attempt to sound commanding. "I am very dangerous! I have a pistol! And a snake! Please don't look..." She's trembling again, and her bravado is entirely ruined by a hiccupy sob.

For some reason, he had expected the little green girl to behave predictably and, well, well-behavedly. They don't really get going until there's a pack of them, do they? Her sudden squeak and lightning-fast absconding startle him into nearly toppling backwards as he tries to step back while half crouching, quickly bracing a hand against a tree, face aghast at this turn of events. Sraif concurs with the standard indignant flapping and chittering, probably more at his instability than anything else. Slowly and consideringly, the Doctor unfolds back up to his full height, now making the face he makes when someone is being incomprehensible. Unfortunately, there's no one around to translate, and it sounds an awful lot like he's about to have to deal with a distraught child in a scary forest, again. As cautiously and unthreateningly as he can manage, he sidles towards the tree.

"Well. I have an owl and a screwdriver, so it's a stalemate, better call a truce. What if I promise not to look, would you come out? Why don't you want anyone to look at you? Can the owl look? I didn't mean to scare you, or your charming snake. I won't look, unless you say to," he says in a torrent of curiosity, followed by reassurance, as soon as he remembers to offer it. He stops near the tree but still out of sight, sits down cross-legged, and covers his eyes. Very calm, and very stationary, and very defenseless. No sudden movements, as difficult as that is for him to manage, and rhythmic, soothing words, like she's a wild animal that's gotten trapped in the house and needs to be negotiated with to be removed peacefully. "See? You can come out, nothing's going to get you, because you're very dangerous."

For quite a long moment, the fact that the man is still there and now talking very quickly and demandingly, only makes her feel worse about this whole horrible, frightening situation. She doesn't understand why she can't change her appearance, and now someone has had to see her, and she's so very scared. And cowering against the rough bark of the tree trunk cradling her pitiful little weapon isn't helping at all. She wishes she could simply sink into the ground and disappear, perhaps to just stop existing wholesale, a wish she has contemplated more and more often recently whenever the weight of her loneliness and despair seem too much to bear.

Except now she isn't alone, and little by little the stranger's soothing tone gets through to her until she realises he's still there, he hasn't screamed or run off in fear at the sight of her hideous visage at all. Her snake friend has come to that realisation more quickly and is already sliding up on her shoulder in order to stretch out around the tree, tiny forked tongue tasting the air and possibly the man's sincerity. What a brave little creature, to investigate for her sake, far braver than she can find it in herself to be.

The snake observes the sitting man, head swaying slightly in consideration and curiousity, before turning its shiny green eyes on the owl. "I think you ought to stop looking as well, if you don't mind," he says, solemnly polite. Hearing him talk to the strangers, confirming that the man apparently meant what he said, Calliope suddenly feels bold enough to swallow her nonexistent tears and pipe up, "Do you promise?" She's not sure about coming out even if he does, but it would be reassuring nonetheless.

The owl's eyes widen, then hurriedly snap shut, like two lamps being switched off, and she tucks her head under her wing for good measure. Not something owls are in the habit of doing, but it's a special occasion.

The Doctor sits patiently with his hands covering his eyes, and indeed much of the rest of his face as well, only the tip of his nose sticking out between, an absurd degree of commitment to the gesture. "I promise. Cross my hearts." Ah, the childish belief in the binding nature of promises, second only to friendship bribes in the juvenile social arsenal, and generally just about as permanent. But this is an easy enough thing to promise, in the grand scheme of things. "Come out and see for yourself. We can renegotiate the terms of our truce. Much better than hiding behind a tree." What kind of child carries a gun but cries behind a tree at the sight of another living thing? What a mystery. At least the snake seems to have its head on straight.

Indeed the snake seems satisfied with the owl's and her person's willing compliance, nodding his head approvingly before curling back around to Calliope. "Trustworthy, I should say," he reports and then returns to his comfortable spot draped around her neck, leaving her to her own conclusions. She thinks she probably ought to believe her new friend, but it's still hard to bring herself to move from her relatively safe place. Not that it feels all that safe, really, and now that she's calmed down a smidgen and the stranger continues to speak quite kindly, she's starting to feel a tug of curiosity, wanting to know why he hasn't run screaming yet.

So she finally peeks out from behind the tree and, seeing that the man is keeping his promise as well as just generally not looking quite so startlingly tall anymore, she creeps forward by a few more cautious steps. "I'm not dangerous at all, to tell you the truth," she confesses, sounding very dejected. Perhaps if she was dangerous, she could have saved others and herself a lot of pain. "But I... I would appreciate it if you kept your eyes closed regardless. I am very sorry," she adds, voice threatening to break again as shame and fear once more seem to press down on her out of the fog and the dark.

Edited 2014-11-13 22:54 (UTC)

The Doctor can hear her hesitant approach, shy shuffling steps in the leaf litter, slowing to a halt. There's a lot to be said for her honesty, even if she's being basically incomprehensible. Her insistence on not being seen, however, is quite mysterious, and not very reasonable either. The atmosphere of the dream really seems to be getting to her, though it's hard to say for sure to what degree. He's not at all sure how young she actually is, even. Is she small for the age her polite voice would suggest, or is she mature for the age her size and fear suggest? Or is all of that normal, including the gun? "But why? Why can't I look? You can't just go around making everyone cover their eyes all the time, that's ridiculous, how would that work. Besides, I saw you already. Wasn't the end of the world, was it. What are you afraid of?"

He is right of course, she is being terribly ridiculous. She wants to explain that she doesn't ordinarily have to resort to making people cover their eyes, that this is an unusual and quite frightening circumstance, but she doesn't have the heart to speak up for herself just now. Even though he doesn't seem unfriendly, his insistent tone and words and the reminder that the damage is likely already done only serve to reaffirm how awful she feels, and she takes an involuntary step back until her back collides with the tree.

What use is there really in evading, or hiding? He's seen her already, and everywhere else is just going to be as miserable as here. Defeated by her own gloom, she slides down the tree and sits in the dirt, placing the gun on the ground at her side to wrap her arms around her knees. "I... I am afraid you will be repulsed by my appearance," she admits, sounding very small and very lost. "I am sure you already are, and are simply too decent to show it. No one could regard my true countenance with anything but disgust."

"Rubbish!" What a nonsensical child, even as children go. Perhaps she's younger than her manner suggests. With clear exasperation, he takes his hands away from his face, frowning horribly, incredulously. "Why would I be? So you're green, and dramatic. Quite convenient actually, means I won't have to number you if any more children turn up, probably. Anyway, have you seen my eyebrows?"

That settled, it's get up time. Clearly this isn't a line of thought that is conducive to anything useful. If anything, she seems to have been stewing far too long as it is. "Get up, get up! You can't sit around moping in a scary forest all night." The owl concurs with a little clucking sound.

"Oh!" she squeaks as the man's large angry eyes are suddenly fixed on her again, and the snake raises his head to hiss emphatically at this turn of events. His catastrophic frown seems to pin her in place, too shocked to even reach for her weapon. Even aside from her renewed fright and shame, she somehow really hadn't expected him to disregard her wish so blatantly. Promises are a kind of rule, aren't they? Not unbreakable, as she well knows, but what can one rely on, if not rules? It's rather unfair, and hurtful to boot.

But... he really doesn't seem to mind her, as inconceivable as that is. Perhaps he's just very good at hiding it; how else could he claim that her appearance is convenient, whatever that even means? It's all terribly alarming and perplexing, but maybe, just maybe, this is the best she could hope for, while she can't make herself less monstrous.

Still, when he gets to his feet and becomes just about as tall and gangly as the trees, she can't help cowering a little. "What do you think we ought to do?" she asks, hesitantly. "Is this not a memory of yours, then?" With a nervous flick of her tongue, she ventures, "And what is so unusual about your eyebrows?"

Uncovering his eyes hadn't been so much a conscious decision as a reflex, as he very much needs to look at things when he wants to understand them and frown at them most effectively. Also he'd thought at first that she maybe had a real reason for asking him not to look. Like a 'petrifying gaze' reason or a curse or something. The truth is more perplexing and not something he can understand as intuitively.

"Hm? Nevermind, it's just a saying." Someone missed the memo about get up time, looks like. Maybe he didn't put enough arm into his get up motions. "This isn't my dream, made from my memories. It's a telepathic construction..." he stops himself from continuing in that vein, with great effort and obvious regret. "It's a big dream thing, it doesn't belong to anyone, even if someone had to make it. Normal dreams are nice and private, single occupancy, like a bathtub. This is the municipal pool. You're in it but it's not yours, and you shouldn't think too much about what else might be in it, because you'll get grossed out." Yes, clearly she is immune to get up motions, this calls for more drastic measures. So he steps over and extends his hand to her, opening and shutting it a few times impatiently. "Up! Up! Up!" The owl, as the most socially ept being currently present, decides to weigh in. "He's trying to help you," Sraif clarifies, because that had really needed clarification. "Really." Because even if this Doctor is completely wronghanded at dealing with scared children, at the most basic level, which is currently also an owl, he will always want to help.

There he goes again, being so terribly pushy and flummoxing, and are humans really supposed to be quite this extravagantly limbed? This just seems like far too much person to be accosted by for someone who has only ever met another living being once before. And Roxy was much less intense, at that. She really misses Roxy, and the rest of her friends.

But the stranger is too demanding to let her dwell on that, now flapping his hand at her for some indecipherable reason. Though the fluffy creature on his shoulder - the owl, he'd called her - does sound rather reassuring, and after a moment longer of staring at the hand in bewilderment, a memory comes to her, of observing Jake and his grandmother lusus exploring their woods together hand in hand. A human gesture of affection and companionship! Of all the things that could have happened to her in this dark and unsettling forest, she never would have expected such a sweet and novel offer to be one of them.

Timidly she places her claws in his hand, barely touching him for fear of lacerating his delicate human skin. And then she's swept to her feet so quickly she almost doesn't have time to grab her gun, while the snake has to curl more tightly around her neck not to lose his purchase. The man and his owl weren't wrong though, she does feel a little better for standing up and holding his hand. "There is no need to use such simple yet colourful metaphors to explain this place to me, I do know what dream bubbles are," she points out, shyly at first but quickly warming to a matter she actually feels competent in. "Since they are comprised of the intersecting memories of their occupants, and can be manipulated by the principal dreamer once they are aware of their dormant state, I thought I could help whoever's memory this is to create a more pleasant scenery." The snake, having unfurled a little to stare judgmentally at the man, adds, "We aren't stupid, you know." Apparently he has a shorter temper than Calliope, and she glances down at him with a surprised frown.

Is there some unwritten law that children can never just appreciate his masterful and extremely well thought out metaphoric explanations? So ungrateful and unimpressed. Not that that really matters at the moment, since she's just given an explanation of her own that doesn't sound metaphorical in the slightest; he goggles at the incomprehensibility of it all, and then presses his lips together sternly at the snake. "Well clearly, I am, because I have no idea what you're talking about. Do you mean to say you spend a lot of time in shared dreams? Because I can assure you, even if that's normal for you, this is something different." He pulls her along through the woods by her clawed hand, sonic screwdriver clutched tight for security in his other hand. Having accepted responsibility for another weird child in a forest, it just feels necessary on an unconscious level to be some modicum of prepared, even if this is a dream forest and the child in question has teeth like a bear-trap. And apparently wanders around telepathically shared dreams all the time.

"For starters, I don't think you're going to find a principal dreamer, here. Though the rules sound similar enough. If a person knows they're dreaming, and is relatively used to flexing those mental muscles, they can make changes to the dream. Small changes. Even humans, maybe, if they're unusually competent." He sounds more like he's being generous than confident. "This dream is an effect of a universal rift, which I am investigating, when I'm awake, which I usually am."

As lovely as holding his hand is turning out to be, it is also rather difficult to keep up with his long strides across the uneven ground. But she does her best not to stumble, while listening keenly to his fascinating theories. "Oh I wish I could participate in shared dream bubbles, how wonderful that would be!" she says, feeling it polite to answer his question even though he kept talking afterwards. "But it is out of the question for me. I would only endanger everyone there." Despondency raises its ugly head again, and she is briefly scared that she might be endangering him right now, attracting unwanted attention with her mere presence, and feeling awful that she hadn't thought of this sooner.

But this really doesn't feel like a normal dream bubble, just like he's saying, and he does seem to know an awful lot about this. Besides, exchanging theories is an excellent and fun idea, and to be taken seriously he'll need her credentials, so to speak. "I am more of a scholar on the matter, having extensively studied ancient texts on the nature and mechanics of Paradox Space. Shared dream bubbles serve many important purposes, such as allowing the living players to benefit from the knowledge and experiences of those who were less successful." Risking her footing for the sake of looking all the way up at him, she adds kindly, "And you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, humans can be very competent! Some of them are destined to do great things."

What. Where to start. Momentarily the Doctor wishes there were a crate, a low wall maybe, perhaps just a large rock, on which to set this alien child in order to stare at her in bafflement from a better vantage point. That probably won't make anything she just said make any more sense, but it would probably be cathartic in some way. He settles for slowing his breakneck shamble through the forest, unconsciously letting her catch her breath as well as indicating a shift in interest, from lecturing to actively paying attention. Albeit not without some more talking first; underneath all the interesting but indecipherable nonsense are more objectionable points to dispute, before things get out of hand.

"Ah, well, that's as may be," and it is, in fact; he feels a little embarrassed at being shown up by a small green child when it comes to optimism regarding human potential. This pretend-British alien is seriously encroaching on his territory, humans are his species to prop up or call rude names, as circumstances and regenerations require. "But I'm not human. Though I am intimately familiar with the human ability to do great things, puddingheadedness notwithstanding. I've had many many human friends, some of whom were borderline capable. I have non-human friends, too, but never any scholars on Paradox Space. What makes you think you would endanger people in shared dreams?" he asks, very suddenly and somewhat skeptically. That's as good a place to start as any.

The somewhat more reasonable pace is certainly a blessing for Calliope, because those sure are a lot of surprising things he just said. Chiefly that he is a different species than what he appears to be, and that he has human and alien friends too. She doesn't quite get the chance to work out if he just implied that they are friends now before he regrettably changes the topic again.

"It is because of my horrendous brother, he is pursuing me," she sighs. "He is completely obsessed with the need to destroy me, and has been blowing dream bubbles to smithereens and wiping out the residing souls in his efforts to find me. The 'rift' you are investigating is almost certainly one of the cracks in reality his eternal rampage is causing. I have created a hideout for myself, but he is highly sensitive to my presence." Having to think about this, despair overtakes her for good and her voice becomes very small and sad.

And to make matters worse, who would want to stay in her company after hearing any of that? She almost wishes she hadn't said anything, but she wouldn't have had it in her to lie either. And she couldn't bear it if something happened to her new friend because of her own selfishness. "So... I would not blame you if you preferred to part ways. Though... I really would rather you didn't," she adds hurriedly against her better judgement, tightening her claws around his hand almost imperceptibly.

"I'm not scared of your brother, and I'm not going anywhere." The feeling that he has stepped into the middle of something larger and more all-encompassing than himself is surprisingly unfamiliar to the Doctor. The feeling of being almost, but not quite, imperceptibly clung to is not. He stops completely, and the look on his face is no longer animatedly aghast but grave and indecipherable, a face that has forgotten to ape humanity. Notably he does not let go of this mysterious creature's little clawed hand, grabbed for the sake of convenience and excitement, now grasped for actual reassurance. Once again, a lot of what she has just said makes little or no sense, but some things he definitely understood. "So you spend all your time running and hiding in dreams that aren't yours. What about when you're awake? Do you hide there, too?"

When he comes to a halt, Calliope's breath catches, for a dreadful moment completely expecting him to let go of her and tell her to stay away. But once again he defies her expectations. And as inconceivable (and probably unwise) as it is, looking up into his now so still and serious face, she can actually believe that he isn't scared. If anything, she thinks perhaps others ought to be scared of him, though not her, because he's holding her hand more tightly now.

Still, it feels a little bit like disappointing him to admit, "I am not asleep. He was already successful once, and killed me. I'm only a ghost now, that is why I have these spooky blank eyes. But he will never feel that he has won until all traces of me are truly gone." When she'd explained this to Roxy, it was to help her friend understand the gravity of their situation, to instruct her to prepare for further battles, and perhaps a little to justify her own foolishness. Now, it doesn't feel like there is any such burden of responsibility on her. A somewhat new feeling, given how she's always been the one with access to all the information, having to figure out how to responsibly dole out hints to her friends without risking the stability of causality, nudging them in the right direction through all their troubles. It's new, and oddly comforting.

A ghost. He closes his eyes, and it feels like mourning. And guilt, to realise how absolutely too late the possibility of help has arrived, though this has nothing to do with him and it's only by the rarest coincidence that he's aware of it at all. But she's a very lively ghost, all things considered, and quite resilient too, by the sound of things. Clever, and good at hiding. Good for her. Run and hide in dreams forever, little green ghost. The owl, having been still and silent as a wooden carving all this time, makes her presence known once more, with a quiet, "I'm sorry."

The Doctor has about as much time for grief as he does for voluntary sleep, however. "So. Your brother is powerful enough to put cracks in the universe itself. What does that make you, Ms. Scholar?"

For a moment, she is stumped on interpreting his reaction to her words, wondering if he really is disappointed that she wasn't strong enough to stand up to her brother. But then she sees the sadness in his expression, and the owl confirms it. It's strange to think someone is grieving for her, especially since she hasn't even heard from her friends for so long, and it is quite touching, but she doesn't like it. He shouldn't be sad; it isn't his fault that she failed, and she has started suspecting that it wasn't a great loss.

The snake, who had silently paid witness to the whole conversation curled around her shoulders, now raises his head towards the owl to pronounce solemnly, "We aren't gone yet." Calliope finds that surprisingly uplifting, and her new friend's sweet little epithet for her even brings a smile round her fangs, albeit a very small and wistful one. "I once believed I was meant to become an exceptionally gifted Muse of Space, with powers formidable enough to rival those my brother is now exhibiting... Obviously I was only fooling myself, though. I'm not much use for anything now, except to go looking for a more successful iteration of myself. Legend has it that she was strong-willed enough to utterly defeat my brother, as he did with me, so if she really exists, she must be the key to destroying him."

The feeling of being on the borders of something very vast and complex remains, and grows stronger with everything she says. The Doctor is no stranger to cosmic battles and rewriting the events of history, so it's a familiar strangeness. He could salute it in passing, if he were the type. As it is he merely makes note of it.

"It seems like you're the strong-willed one, hanging on and finding a way around death to fight your brother. That kind of tenacity is impressive, moreso than formidable powers, anybody can have those and it's unlikely to be much of an advantage. I don't think a lack of will is your problem, and I bet the snake agrees with me. Fooling yourself is a boring road to go down, don't you think you're a little too scholarly for that?"

For a moment, she is quite speechless in the face of so much kindness. Even though she can't agree with what he says, the fact that he's saying such nice and encouraging things at all is so unexpected and generous. It really is a shame that he's wrong.

"You are so lovely for believing that of me," she says earnestly, if a little regretfully. "But you do not know my brother, or our unique situation. He's the one with all the cursed tenacity and bollocksing stubbornness, while I was silly enough to believe I could wrangle him into cooperation, right up until he had me murdered. I really should have seen his final move coming." Familiar frustration and anger at her brother is bubbling up inside her and she frowns ponderously, though underneath that she still feels like crying for how useless and hopeless she is now, and it threatens to break her voice. "Hanging on after death is rather inevitable, and I am still not doing anyone much good, because I'm too bloody scared to leave my hideout and actually go search for my other self!" Now the frustration has turned on her and she has to squeeze her empty eyes shut against the feeling of tears.

Amusingly and intensely fakey-fake Englishisms aside, he can relate to an eerie degree. Who knows better than he does what it feels like, to not have seen a final move coming? Because of willful, ill-advised optimism, because of trying to see things that aren't there and handing out second chances that aren't drawn on his account, and half the time being elsewhere when the consequences come home to roost. Only this little skull child is not only blaming herself soundly for it, but was the one to actually pay for it, disastrously. Scared, but not a coward.

She is also, maybe, crying? Trying not to cry? Ghost-crying? Something panic-inducing, anyway. He wheels and crouches to her level, ignoring the owl's protest at the sudden drop in altitude. Now, in contrast, his look is too human, too much expressive distress crammed into one face. He has enough borrowed common sense still stored up not to rudely shake a maybe-ghost-crying child, but he still puts his hands on her shoulders urgently, in case mild jostling becomes necessary. "Hey. Listen. You could do a lot worse than scared. Scared is just fine, scared is a-okay. It isn't giving up, it's a tactic. Listen to your snake, if you won't listen to me. He's very smart. You're not gone yet."

Calliope's breath catches when his hands touch her shoulders and her eyes snap open to stare into a face that looks just as distressed as she feels. She's quite unsure about the meaning of this, the way he is holding her and looking at her as though she was a very fragile thing, as though he's afraid she might fall or run away. It's enough to startle her out of nearly crying, though she stiffens noticeably for lack of any sort of instinctual understanding of what is happening or how to react to it.

The snake is the one to break the surprised silence, weaving around her shoulders until his head is level with her ear canal, while staring at her friend consideringly. "He is right," the snake decides. "The game is not over until our purpose is clear and creation is safe. There are a few moves left." She glances at the reptile before looking back at her friend, wringing her claws and trying to take both their words to heart. Absently she notices that she isn't carrying her gun anymore, at some point having forgotten to keep imagining it. Not that she needs a weapon when she has such kind and protective company.

"I suppose so..." she begins, though she can't quite hold his painfully concerned gaze, not when she feels like his encouragement and confidence would be better placed elsewhere. "But I find it hard to believe that you know very much about being scared. You are not afraid of this forest, or my brother. You aren't even afraid of my hideous appearance," a very small sound like a sob escapes her at that, shamefully aware that he has been looking directly at her.

"It does not feel like a strategically calculated move. It just feels like blasted cowardice, and letting down my friends." She seems to be shrinking in on herself as she goes on, so perhaps that's what he is holding her shoulders for. Though she wishes he was still holding her hand instead.

Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

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