applesaucedream | Between the Roots and Branches [Open to All]

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Between the Roots and Branches [Open to All]

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Don't worry, dreamers of Manhattan. There will be no humiliating episodes of sudden-onset-clumsiness tonight - at least, nothing more severe than what you might experience naturally. Your physical and mental faculties will be left perfectly intact. What a treat! And what luck, because if you do lose your footing, it's a long way down to the forest floor.

But hey, who wants to be on the boring old ground when there are so many wonderful treehouses to explore? There are dozens of them spread throughout the surrounding forest, connected by a series of bridges and catwalks (some, admittedly, a bit more stable than others). It's easy to forget - or fail to notice - that there really is no easy or conventional way down to the ground when you're surrounded by such splendor.

The houses' styles range from charming and rustic to modern and sleek, with many falling somewhere in between. There are viewing platforms for bird-watching or simply taking in the scenery (trees, mostly, though if you venture high enough, you'll be treated the sight of the forest canopy stretched across a valley far below). But the insides of the treehouses are comfortably furnished to varying degrees as well, so there's no need to immerse yourself in nature if you'd really rather not. Some are complete houses in their own right, with all the amenities of a Manhattan apartment and then some.

Go for a climb, or kick back and relax. The only enemies you'll find here are other dreamers... and, potentially, gravity.

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No. Nope. No.

Cozy little cabins are okay. Weird houses where everything keeps breaking? Less okay, but doable. This? Not okay. Not in any way okay. At all.

It's not the houses that bother him. It's not the fact that they are so very, very high off the ground and one look out the window is a bit vertigo-inducing, but that's fine because Tim has a stomach for that sort of thing and it's never bothered him before, that's perfectly fine and all right and normal.

No, that's fine. He's okay with that. He is. That's not what's got him worried. Not the houses or the heights or any of it.

It's the goddamn trees.

Tim doesn't dare smoke in any of these obviously wooden houses, not even outside on the viewing decks - however subtly and darkly and unthinkably he's tempted to drop his lighter down off one of the bridges and watch the whole thing go up in flames, and that's an instinct that rings a little too unnervingly Kralie-esque for him to be set on examining and being altogether comfortable with, like, at all - so instead he settles for ducking into an orblike little house that makes him feel intensely, claustrophobically, uncomfortably like some sort of Christmas ornament or a piece of particularly overripe low-hanging fruit.

It's not a pleasant sensation.

The interior creaks and rattles with every step. The boards are ashen. But no one else seems to be around, and that's usually a good sign. Usually. In Tim's case, anyway. He sits down carefully in the center of the floor, crosses his legs, hopes the floorboards won't give way, and, with a trembling, dread-saturated instinct - pulls out his lighter and fixes it with a wondering look.

The thoughts urging him to flick it on don't feel entirely his own.

Edited 2015-04-01 01:14 (UTC)

This place is kind of fun, but it's really the kind of thing that's more fun with other people. What's cool isn't just that there's a whole lot of tree houses, but that there are so many different kinds, even ones that remind Yuri of being a kid and wanting to live in a tree house. Some of them you could live in, if you didn't mind the damp outdoor air coming in through glassless windows.

Not this one, though. It's just a little pod thing, and Yuri means to just pass on around to the other side to go on exploring, except when he goes clomping onto the deck at the entryway it turns out he's disturbing someone's peace. "Oh!" he says, surprised to see anyone else. "Uh, sorry. I didn't know this place belonged to anyone." Which is dumb, because how else would it get here?

The dull groan of wood should have snapped Tim into awareness long before he actually does, only jerking his chin up when the explanation cuts across his focus. His mouth tightens and he jolts to his feet, hand closing in a tight fist around the lighter.

How long was he sitting there, just staring at it, lifeless and stricken by some whispered, sourceless urge? That's not him, that's not what he does. Things are different here, dream or not.

They have to be.

He works to form words for a minute, process what's just been said, cleave through the fog separating him from the sense that any of this is real. Is it, if it's a dream? Does that count?

"I dunno who it belongs to either," Tim answers gruffly, having located his voice at last. "Just found it like this." He swings his hand up in a gesture that might have been demonstrative but terminates in something abortive when he realizes he's about to wave his closed fist. It falls back rigidly to his side.

Now he feels bad for interrupting...something. He really didn't mean to startle the guy, and maybe it would have been less awkward for everyone if he'd just pretended not to see him and gone on his way. Yuri leans backward almost imperceptibly in response to the swinging hand that ends up going nowhere.

"Oh," he says. "Me too, I guess? It's pretty cool, though, don't you think?"

He shoots a taut look out the window, at the too-stretched-out fucking trees, and half-expects to glimpse something tall and thin and drifting and limbless lurking between the trunks.

He doesn't.

"I guess." Tim shrugs fluidly, makes a poor attempt at eye contact that leaves him scowling at the floor. "If you like woods." The dour tone is about all Tim's willing to put forth in terms of his own general opinion on woods, trees, and all things related.

What Yuri sees when he looks out the window is a tranquil scene out of some kind of park or resort. He follows Tim's gaze, but can't find anything objectionable to explain the other man's sour attitude. He shrugs awkwardly. "It's kind of like the mountains back home," he says, because it seems like he needs an excuse for liking this place. Wanting to change the subject, he adds, "My name's Yuri."

So the guy's got a thing for woods. That's fine. That's great. Tim's very happy for him.

The back of his neck prickles.

"Tim," he says shortly. He's not really sure what the hell kind of a name Yuri is, but he's also not in the market to ask when one of the nicer people he's met since ending up here is called Daine.

'Here' also reminds him of something. Reminds him -

"It's a dream," he says. "In case you, I don't know. Hadn't figured it out."

There are probably way more polite ways to phrase that. Tim doesn't know. He's run out of brain space to concentrate on that in any way at the moment, a little overly preoccupied with the disturbingly verdant backdrop and the painful, iron knot of his fist.

"...Oh." And that's just disappointing, even if Yuri can see immediately that it's true. He's not sure now why it made sense to him that he would suddenly be in a giant treehouse network in the middle of the woods, but he was enjoying it enough that he didn't really care why or how.

At least he's not a bear. Showing up to a group dream as a bear is the worst.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks, because this conversation is weirdly tense.

"I'm fine." The curse keeping him from lying has long since faded, but it doesn't feel like it. The old lie feels dry and dusty when it drops from his tongue, too well-trodden for him to put any real meaning behind it.

There's a distant rustle, probably some fucking bird taking off in a snap and flutter of wings, but Tim can't keep from flinching. The lighter drops from fingers that only jerk for a minute and clatters to the ground. It makes too much noise. It splinters in his ears.

Shit.

He stares at it numbly and wonders why the sight of the thing is somehow equivalent to impending dread. He doesn't want to set anything on fire. He never wanted to set anything on fire. That was Alex. He doesn't - he never -

Tim claws for an explanation, but doesn't have one. Everything he comes up with feels so juvenile, too much like a suspiciously specific denial. No, he absolutely wasn't thinking of setting the woods on fire, who would do that? Fuck. Fuck. He makes a vaguely surprised noise that's far too delayed to have any real connection to the fallen object, blinks hard, and scrabbles to think of something of actual substance to explain why he has it.

Yuri's not sure what startles Tim, exactly. There's no change in the soft ambient sounds of the woods that he particularly notices (they're woods, there will be little wind and animal noises even if it is a dream), but something makes the other young man jerk and drop something on the floor. A lighter? So he's a smoker, probably, little weird that he'd have that in a dream but if it's something he carries with him all the time it's probably like how your clothes show up like normal in dreams except when your brain decides you need to be naked and back in high school.

Except Tim's really freaking out about...something. Yuri eyes him with growing unease, not making the slightest bit of the connection going on in Tim's head right now but getting kind of worried about how Tim keeps twitching and making weird little noises.

"...Let me get that," he offers, stooping to pick up the lighter. When he rises he holds it out at a polite distance, waiting for Tim to take it and watching his face. "You don't...seem fine. D'you want to...I don't know, try to find somewhere lower? Is it the height? Because I get that."

He stares at the proffered lighter with an expression approaching confused horror, then abruptly snaps his mouth closed and shakes his head numbly.

"Keep it," he says too quickly, too roughly, too desperately. He's not a fucking psychopath. He doesn't set things on fire. He never did. But maybe - maybe someone else should hold onto it. Just in case. Just in case. He's not about to do anything wrong, but just in case. Yeah.

Yuri's looking at him like he's seriously lost it; maybe he has, maybe he always has, he wouldn't know, it's not like Tim is the paragon of fucking reliability.

"I, uh," Tim pushes a too-shaky hand through his hair and glances out again, eyes flicking restively over the vibrant woodland. "I just -" How is he fucking this up? What's wrong with him - aside from the fucking norm? "I don't like," a trembling breath puts an odd distance between the previous word and next, "trees."

"O...kay." Why? That's kind of a strong reaction to have to his own lighter (maybe he doesn't like people touching his things? Maybe he can't stand people touching him?), but Yuri's not going to force the thing on him. He awkwardly lowers his hand and slips the thing into his own pocket, not that he wants it. "Sorry."

He doesn't laugh at the explanation. It makes no sense to him because who doesn't like trees, but it's clearly, painfully the truth for whatever reason and Tim is obviously genuinely upset about it. The corners of Yuri's mouth pull down as he glances out the window. "I can see how that would be a problem right now," he says, but what can he do about it? Heights he could maybe help fix, at least a little (he hasn't found a way down yet but there are ways to go less high), but trees themselves? He can't get rid of that for Tim. "Is there, uh, like...something I can do to help?"

A high, shaky sound escapes him, too wild and uncertain for laughter. One hand stays fisted in his hair, tightening viciously.

"No," he mutters. "No, it's - a long story."

Why does this guy care? Why does anyone care? He's weird, stupid, antisocial Tim and no one ever cares.

He drops his hand and tries to affix some sense of normalcy to his frown, to the stabilizing shake of his head; maybe he'll just come across as some weird, intensely dendrophobic asshole instead of the freak that he is.

"You know how to wake up from these things?" Well, so much for that. The question cracks out too harshly, some bizarre mixture of anxiety and completely-uncalled-for hostility. He can't imagine what he looks like right now. Freak freak freak. Maybe that'll chase him away. That's good, right?

"Nnno," admits Yuri. He feels bad about it; he really does want to help but he doesn't know what to do, here. "I, um, don't. But maybe we could find someone who does? Or -- uh. Find something distracting, maybe."

Or he could just leave this guy alone. He's in rough shape, but he seemed to just be sitting still and dealing with it before Yuri came and stirred him up into some kind of panic. "Unless that's what you were doing?" His voice climbs the register with doubt.

It's like trying to catch water between his fingers, and every paling instant where he thinks he could claw back some measure of calm is lost in something trembling and breathless. He's trying not to let his shoulders shake when he looks out again, trying not to let his hands shake. Fuck. He's fine. He's normal, he's fine. Fuck.

"I wasn't doing anything," he says, but now his voice is wavering, great. He probably sounds like he's having some sort of nervous breakdown. Unless he is? Maybe this is what nervous breakdowns feel like. There's no prickling and numbness to signal an onset of panic. Fuck, fuck. Has he ever had a nervous breakdown?

He has to explain. He has to do something. He can't just sit here talking in circles to this guy who clearly, clearly does not know how to handle this and Tim can't blame him, because he doesn't know how to handle this either.

"I really," he whispers, locking eyes with Yuri, dark and terrified, "really. Don't like trees."

That's no fucking explanation, and he knows it. He catches a stuttering breath and tries again.

"There's something wrong," he mutters, one hand fluttering up in a helpless gesticulation that explains exactly nothing. "There's something - can't you - ?" He drifts off. His heart's pounding. His mouth's dry. There's nothing out there. ~~There's something out there.~~ Fuck.

Yuri seems to be faced with a man about to have a panic attack due to being surrounded by trees, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about that. "I can't?" he replies, uncertainty suffusing his voice until he realizes that whatever he does, letting Tim hear how worried he is will not help. "I mean, no," he says, trying to sound more sure of himself. "There's nothing -- I don't see anything. It's just the woods, there's nothing -- nothing unusual." But...trees. If he doesn't like trees, being in normal woods isn't going to help.

"Let's -- let's sit back down," he suggests. "And not look at them. And, uh, breathe. Deeply."

He's trying, Tim can tell by the strain in his voice that he's trying - trying to work this out, trying to figure out what's going on, but he has no idea, no idea at all, and Tim's terrified he is fucking terrified of what will happen of what is going to happen of what always happens - doesn't it? Doesn't it always happen?

Tim twists away, braces hands on the sill of the open square cut out from the wood that is, for all intents and purposes, this place's window. He surveys the surrounding area raggedly, again and again, just sit back down, Tim, there's nothing there.

Nothing but his uncertainty and his paranoia.

His completely justified paranoia.

"Don't worry about it," he says thickly, shoulders hunching, probably completely unconvincingly, then turns back around. He's not looking at corners. His breathing is - okay, so it's not normal but it's never been normal, and at least he's not hacking up a lung. He rasps out a noise, something meant to convey wry amusement or irony, and sweeps another hand through his hair.

"I'm not panicking," he says, a little too desperately to be meant as a reassurance for Yuri alone. "I'm not."

"Okay," agrees Yuri, because he is really trying to be helpful and saying what he really thinks isn't going to help right now. He really did make this worse; at least the guy was sitting quietly before Yuri came and got him all worked up talking about the trees. "You're not. Would it help if we talked about something else?"

Because he can't just leave Tim here now that he knows someone's off panicking because trees, and he can't stay here without trying to help, and he's rapidly exhausting all his best guesses about how to make this better.

Yeah, subject changes, that's good. Ignore the trees for a minute. Ignore the things in them. Ignore the eyes in the branches, because all those branches have eyes even if they never tell you. Let's talk about Tim's life. Let's not talk about Tim's life. Let's talk about anything else.

"Like what?" he fires back, unsure why the words cut like a challenge when, when no, really, please, he would like to think about anything else, anything else, please.

He's breathing way too rapidly. He's pretty sure it shows. God. God, no.

He should leave. It's pretty obvious he's not wanted here -- unless he is? Tim hasn't told him to leave yet, and Yuri's kind of guessing he wouldn't be shy about saying it if he really wanted Yuri gone. He grasps for something to say when he has no idea if the two of them even have anything in common.

"Are you in Manhattan?" blurts Yuri, because isn't that the topic everyone jumps to when they need to make small talk?

He closes his eyes, trying to just fucking breathe like a normal person because he can at least act fucking normal for Yuri's benefit, can't he? He can do that. He can do that, yeah.

"Yeah." He nods jerkily, eyes still shut. They flare open when he squints at a point past Yuri's shoulder, at the winding little wooden stairway thing leading down here. There's no railing. There's nothing.

It's probably a really long drop.

He forces his gaze to slide back to Yuri. "Yeah. I guess - you too, huh?" No one would ask unless they were.

"For a long time, yeah," says Yuri. Okay. Common ground. He found common ground and they can talk about that instead of talking about trees or all the ways in which Yuri is totally unequipped to help right now. "I haven't seen you around. Did you come through more recently?"

Or is he with ROMAC, is the million dollar question.

"Yeah," says Tim, his eyes still darting and wary, breaking off to scan the walls of the tiny suspended house they're both in. His neck won't stop prickling. That's nothing new. He's freaking this guy out, and for good fucking reason. He's acting fucking weird with next to no explanation other than he doesn't like trees. Sure, he doesn't. But it's less the trees and more their potential, what could be between them.

"Couple weeks ago," he breathes. Gotta keep this moving. Conversation. That's normal. He can do that. "Keep to myself. Don't go out much."

His wrist twitches, involuntary, one hand delving into his pocket in search for the lighter he isn't carrying and, failing that, wrapping fingers around the little orange bottle buried there. Just. Just to be safe.

Yuri nods slowly. Why is he not surprised that Tim doesn't go out much? He shoves his own hands into his pockets in a sympathetic gesture that then feels weird because it's too imitative, and shifts his weight from foot to foot for a moment before he can catch himself at it and stop.

"You have a place to stay?"

"With a friend." The corner of his mouth twitches as he says it. Liar. But there's not really a common word for friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend-turned-relative-ally, or however the hell he chooses to categorize that little relationship, so he settles for something a bit more standard. It's easier.

It's also getting more difficult to lend the conversation any kind of tangible focus, evidenced by the irregular cadence of the words, the consequence of his constantly being forced to redirect his attention back to Yuri and not the looming, noiseless threat of too many trees.

"He's at the Rebel place. I'm - kind of staying under the radar."

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