deadeyedchild: did you know who it was (this wasn't supposed to happen)
Jay Merrick ([personal profile] deadeyedchild) wrote in [community profile] applesaucedream2015-06-29 02:12 am

Ark Awaits [open to multiple]

He is awake.

He doesn't have a body, and he remembers dying - again - he remembers slipping out, Tim unable to keep him there in spite of his hardened insistence that he wasn't going to let it happen, he remembers all of that, but he can't account for himself now. All he knows is he's awake.

Jay clings to that awareness as hard as he can. He doesn't know where he is, if it's a where at all, if he's alive or if this is just the suspension of afterlife, but he's still conscious, he's still him. Formless and adrift in the void. No arms to reach, no hands to grasp, but he tries, tries to stretch out fingers and hold onto something, even if it's just the continued knowledge of self, of me, Jay, I am Jay Merrick, and no one is going to miss me.

Even as an abstraction he can't escape his bent toward bleak self-deprecation.

There's something pulling at him - or maybe he's the one pulling, hauling himself into a defined space, someone else's space, still abstract, but not formless. He knows this sensation. A dream. He's dreaming. Or someone else is dreaming. He's just a stowaway.

Easier to hold a shape in a dream, though, and it doesn't take long before the memory of a body fills in the gaps, and there he is again, eyes that see, senses more or less intact - looking down at his arms, his hands, his legs and feet. Hand over his face and through his hair. All here. One piece.

He looks up, focus drawn naturally to the dreamer.

[Jay is free-falling through the dreaming, and if you want, he can get scooped up into your dream! The 21st is the current IG date at the time of post, but feel free to date your entry later as that changes. Will add a closing date at some point, when I have that figured out.]
peacefulexplorer: (Ascended | Concern | Worry | ofuq)

September 21st

[personal profile] peacefulexplorer 2015-06-29 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Daniel's not sure if he's dreaming or hallucinating, categorically, because in his experience neither have been strictly applicable to his newfound state of being. Probably not dreaming. Definitely not hallucinating. He's making his own way, and that dovetails rather neatly into the kind of selfsame, thoughtlessly independent, recklessly idealistic, outrageously introspective narrative he's always assumed he's filled, or perhaps even established for himself.

Do abstractions exist within other abstractions? He's certain they do in some sense. The Dreaming isn't really a space he can grasp at the best of times and it never has been; one metaphysical construct meeting another seems to be something of a recipe for imminent ontological disaster. He's always been careful about where he places himself - except, no, that's a lie, because he's never been careful at all. Floating at the edges of every existence like something eidolic and unmoored is a precarious space to occupy. But so is being able to build a room that looks exactly like the one he's never physically been in: small and octagonal and stretching upward in its seeming infiniteness, outstretched to catch the thing coming at him.
Edited 2015-06-29 18:26 (UTC)
peacefulexplorer: (Ascended | Sass | you want me to what)

[personal profile] peacefulexplorer 2015-06-29 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
What happens next is not completely apparent to him, at least not immediately, but the room stretches out in an undulating ripple and he reaches forward out of instinct and the end result is an utterly unintentional, seemingly well-planned and well-executed endeavor to catch the incoming consciousness in a flawless bridal carry.

"Hi," says Daniel, mildly taken aback and entirely pleasant.

He sets the other man down, which is much less difficult than he'd have assumed it would be, seeing as the man both weighs very little and neither of them are, strictly speaking, corporeal.

"Sorry," he says, eyebrows knitting together. "You just seemed to be - falling. I thought I could help."
peacefulexplorer: (Ascended | Sympathy | offering comfort)

[personal profile] peacefulexplorer 2015-06-29 07:01 pm (UTC)(link)
"Daniel." He's not familiar with this person or the unique sort of energy with which he resonates, though he tries to regard him with polite neutrality rather than restrained curiosity. "It's okay. You're, ah, not really here in the conventional sense."

Which raises quite a few questions about the nature of the dreaming in relation to them and the not-quite-human vibe Daniel's sure he's exuding along with the probably-human vibe the other man, that is to say Jay, currently is exuding, though the particular edge to the shape of his mind raises a few questions.

"Metaphysical avenues are," he searches for the right word, "simpler when it comes to communication. At least for me?"
peacefulexplorer: (Ascended | Hide | Dark | Look Away)

[personal profile] peacefulexplorer 2015-06-29 07:37 pm (UTC)(link)
"Uh, sort of." There's no simplistic standpoint to take here, so he figures it's safest to build to it in the gradual sense. "We're in the Dreaming. I'm - not sure if I'm actually capable of really dreaming anymore."

That little vestige of his humanity had been one of the first things whose absence he'd been able to take note of. Like the loss of a psychic limb.

"But - yes. I came through a few - " He halts, frustrated, unable to track the trajectory of his arrival and the passage of time since then. His expression twists briefly, pained, before he can finish, "a while ago."
peacefulexplorer: (Ascended | Sad | ultimately helpless)

[personal profile] peacefulexplorer 2015-06-29 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"I died," he says simply. There's no way to stretch the revelation into something gentle or palatable. "Though it's not that simple, really - the Rift likes to complicate things."

He looks skyward, briefly, tracing the walls that reach up endlessly. "I'm on another plane. I'm not sure if - it's really the same for you. Whatever happened." His gaze drops back to the other man, drawn and conflicted. "But you're not really - tethered, you know?"

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andhiswife: (smile - pensive)

Yeah let's just go with the 21st

[personal profile] andhiswife 2015-06-29 06:58 pm (UTC)(link)
It actually takes Greta a few moments to place him, which is just... inexcusable. There's a beat where she just stares at the lad, mulling him over as if trying to feel out an object in the dark, her mind spitting out vague tidbits like sad and motherless and starts with a J, doesn't it? before she belatedly puts it together.

Jack. Obviously. She'll forget her own head, next.

Blame it on the fact that she's tired, or that he's gone through a growth spurt these past few months - there's a joke to be made about beanstalks; she'll leave that to her husband - but as she spots him slouching between two stalls, it strikes her afresh how different he looks to when she first met him in the Woods. They're all growing up, she supposes. Including her own son, old enough now to run about and get into mischief and hang off her arm with a bored, "Muuuu-um! Are we done yet?"

She checks her basket one more time, because if she's having a hard time placing Jack, of all people, goodness knows whether she's managed to remember all her shopping. But everything seems to be in order, so she extricates her arm from her son's grip and gives the boy an encouraging nudge. "Yes, yes. Go fetch your brother."

"Jack!" The boy tears across the street, stumbling over a loose cobblestone as he goes, but with enough forward momentum to plow into Jack rather than fall to the ground. He wraps his arms around the older boy's leg and grins up at him. "We get to go home."
andhiswife: (smile - loving)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2015-06-29 07:41 pm (UTC)(link)
"I think we're done, here," Greta says, hoisting the basket up toward her shoulder so she has both hands free to straighten Jack's collar. He might be getting a little old for such treatment. Honestly, the poor lad was a little old for it when they first took him in, but she promised to look after him properly, not just do the bare minimum. And he responded so well to a little kindness. She gives his cheek a fond pat, and adds, "If you're ready."

Her boy reaches up to tug on Jack's hand. "I'll race you!" He barrels down the street a few yards, checks to see if he's being followed, then pouts when it becomes clear that he isn't. "Come on," he says, before adding, "I'm gonna win!" and haring off again.

"Don't just let him this time," Greta advises in a conspiratorial undertone, steering Jack out into the street with a hand on his shoulder. "Make him work for it."
andhiswife: (straightening you out)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2015-06-29 08:26 pm (UTC)(link)
He's being unusually subdued, and Greta's brow is already furrowing in concern when he makes his excuse. "Oh." Oh, dear. She hopes he isn't coming down with anything - and not just because one of his chief household contributions is entertaining the little one, and woe betide the rest of them if Jack's not up to the task.

"Well, you can have a lie down when we get back," she says, resisting the urge to check for a fever right there on the street. That, she suspects, really would be too much as far the lad's dignity is concerned.

At least it's not a long walk back to their shop. Greta keeps half an eye on her son, who is the very picture of exaggerated dejection as he maintains his half-block lead, and half an eye on Jack. A few friends call out to her, and she does spare a smile and a wave for a woman in a green headscarf engaged in animated conversation with the smith. Then her son is dragging his feet into the shop, fully rebuilt after the Giant's rampage, with the addition of a small barn for Milky White (who, since her reanimation, doesn't show the least inclination towards dying again).

The lot next door spent a year or two in conspicuous, stubborn neglect before the Girl decided someone ought to do something with it, and that she wasn't afraid, and it has since become a stolidly normal vegetable garden. The Girl's working there, now, and Greta's son soon appears out the side door, flings himself onto her back, and proclaims, "Jack's boring today."

Best leave them to it. Greta steers Jack into the cool, sweet-smelling interior. "How are you feeling?" she asks, checking for fever or any obvious signs of ill health now that they're out of public view. "Could you eat something?"
andhiswife: (neutral - curious)

[personal profile] andhiswife 2015-06-30 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
The look he gives her pulls her up short. She meets his gaze just as searchingly, a little baffled by its intensity, uncertain of what it means. She knows what he looks like when he's fibbing: he can never meet her eyes. This is different, like he's waiting for her to offer him something else, something specific that she can't guess.

She's forgetting something. What is she forgetting?

There's a faint shriek of laughter from the garden, and she shakes her head, dismissing the thought. He's hungry; that's the important thing. If he didn't want food, she'd be more inclined to worry. "Come on," she says, leading him through the shop and into the little kitchen beyond, setting her basket on the counter and pulling out a chair in passing. "Sit down, and I'll make you something."

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ofschrodinger: (Kitten)

[personal profile] ofschrodinger 2015-06-30 02:34 am (UTC)(link)
Gotcha! The kitten hardly waits until the little dreamer fully forms before it's already pouncing on him. There's no reason to tear him apart when it already did that so perfectly such a short time ago, but it relishes the way it can dig its claws into the memories of memories of wounds here where it can be big. It can be anything in dreams, but more importantly, it can hide away from the others, hide him away where they can't see it playing with him and take him away. In the box, in the box, in the box you go, it sing-songs tunelessly to itself. Concept of body. Concept of cat. Concept of a dark little box into which it deposits a concept of Jay, slinking in on top of him and shutting the lid behind them.
ofschrodinger: (Kitten)

[personal profile] ofschrodinger 2015-06-30 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
You're so wriggly! the kitten informs him, batting at him in the darkness, claws retracted. There will be plenty of time for claws later; for now it's more fun to let him scuttle around in the box.

Sometimes it thinks the chase may even be the best part, but then it remembers how much it loves the part that comes afterward.
ofschrodinger: (Kitten)

[personal profile] ofschrodinger 2015-06-30 05:24 am (UTC)(link)
He's still moving! The kitten thumps around after him, pouncing and writhing in the little space with utter disregard for restraint or dignity. Its glowing eyes provide the only light, but it doesn't need even the illusion of sight to seek him out with its deceptively clumsy movements. It grabs at him, trying to grapple him to his chest for a good bite on the head.
ofschrodinger: (Kitten)

[personal profile] ofschrodinger 2015-07-01 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
The kitten doesn't mind him asking questions if they're all going to be easy ones like that. I want to hurt you, silly! it mews, enjoying the way he slips out of reach again and again if only because it knows that there is only one way for this to end. It's so much more fun when toys fail to understand that there's no point in even trying to get away.

It hops toward him, fluffy little tail spiraling, front paws flailing like it can't decide if it's pouncing or just bouncing around for the hell of it.

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