applesaucedream | And the Boats Drift On [Open to All]

And the Boats Drift On [Open to All]

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The water is calm, and the night sky is filled with stars. The only light is natural: a patchy, bioluminescent glow coming from the water below, and the bright swath of the Milky Way above. It's not much, but it's more than enough to see by.

The dreamers will find themselves sitting in their own little rowboats, each stocked with two oars, a length of rope, some cushions, and a little picnic basket full of snacks. There is no visible shoreline, but it won't take the dreamers long to realize theirs are not the only boats in this shallow sea. Anything stirring in the water, be it fish or paddle, causes phosphorescent plankton to glow a bright blue, so there isn't really anywhere to hide.

Feel free to paddle around and visit the other dreamers, perhaps tying your boats together and sharing your snacks in an impromptu picnic. Or you could go for a swim - the bioluminescence makes it difficult to see the bottom, but it's not too terribly deep, so the risk of drowning is all but nonexistent. ~~This setting, unlike the last one, isn't actively out to kill you.~~ Or you could simply lie back and look at the stars.

[ooc: Same drill as always, folks. All are welcome, regardless of whether or not your character is in the game. Characters may remember or forget dream shenanigans at the player's discretion.]

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Peter gives an almighty start as something cold hits him in the back, wine splashing everywhere and oar falling into the water. He whirls to see what's attacking him and --

And it's a sea lion. "The fuck?" he asks aloud, putting down the now mostly empty glass and reaching for the other oar, eyes trained on the animal. He feels a little better with it in his hand, going so far as to wave it vaguely at Daine. "Get," he commands her without a lot of conviction.

Daine pushes herself out of oar's reach and gives Peter a reproachful look. It's only me, silly. Then, in case it takes him more time to place her voice than it does to swing that paddle, she adds, Daine.

Well what did she expect. Somehow, Peter's not prepared to have a teenaged friend accost him in the form of a pinniped despite knowing full well that's the sort of thing Daine is liable to do. It's been a while since the two have talked, though, and he's had his mind on other matters, to say the least. He grips the paddle tighter for a moment until she clarifies the situation using her name, then feels foolish for not getting it the moment he heard her voice at all.

"Oh. Daine. Got something on your face," he informs her, making a gesture that encompasses her outlandish whiskers.

Daine blows air through the referenced whiskers, then bobs beneath the boat so she can reemerge on the other side, where the discarded cork and paddle are floating. Looks like you dropped a few things, she remarks, using a flipper to toss the cork back into the boat. The oar is a bit more cumbersome, so she contents herself with nudging it close enough that Peter should be able to reach out and grab it.

Edited 2014-05-30 05:41 (UTC)

Peter briefly considers throwing the cork right back at her, but the flash of annoyance that gave birth to the thought subsides into the general background hum of self pity quickly enough and he lets it lie on the floor of the boat instead. He doesn't particularly want the oar back, either, but he reaches out and takes it anyhow.

"Going to jump through a hoop for me next?" he asks. He can't decide if he's glad for the company or irritated at the intrusion on his solace, so for now he settles for more or less gentle jabs.

If he did snap at her, she might rightly guess that something was up. But gentle jabs are pretty standard coming from him, so she takes them in stride with good humor.

I don't see any hoops, Daine says with feigned disappointment, as if there's nothing she'd rather do. There aren't any balls she could balance on her snout, either, for that matter. I could probably jump into the boat, but I'm not sure you'd enjoy it. And while she's confident in her ability to get herself into an empty boat without tipping it, she's not sure she could pull it off with the addition of Peter's unpredictable flailing.

The picnic basket might have an orange or something....

"Good instincts," agrees Peter. "Hang on, stay where you are and I'll pour you a drink." Because that makes sense, right? He gets out another glass and pours a generous serving of liqueur, hands slightly unsteady from his imaginary buzz.

Now she does give him a bit of a Look (not that he'll recognize it for what it is, given her shape). Offering alcohol to an animal is ridiculous, but even if she was in human shape, she's too young to drink in this universe. Odd's bobs. What is he planning on doing - holding the glass for her?

Wait, she says. Let me try something.

She curls into a dive, giving herself some room between herself and the surface. Then she swims up as quickly as she can and launches herself into the air. Once her body's cleared the water, she shifts quickly into seagull shape. And once she's steadied herself in the air, it's only the work of a minute to land in Peter's boat and switch to human shape so she can level him with a Look he'll appreciate.

"I don't suppose there's anything else in that basket?" she asks pointedly.

Exactly that, yes. Or he could just hold the bottle and have her drink straight from it ~~like a darling little lamb.~~ Peter's not really thinking that far ahead; he's mostly just decided he more or less wants company, and if he's going to drink she should as well. And yes, he is definitely going to drink.

He starts again, this time managing not to spill the drink. Setting it down, he gives her a bit of impromptu applause. "I don't know," he says with a dismissive shrug. "But now you've got hands, you can get your own."

At least he's no longer insisting she drink wine. Daine explores the contents of his basket and emerges with a bottle of water - a fancy bottle of water, all elegantly shaped and tinted glass. There's a faint hiss as she unscrews the cap, which gives her a moment's pause, and she takes a small, cautious sip. It's fizzy. She knows fizzy water exists, but this is the first time she's had it, and she pulls a face as the bubbles go straight up her nose.

But at least it's just water, when all is said and done. She takes another more measured sip. "Haven't seen you in ages," she says. "How have you been?"

Realizing she's not going to take it, Peter helps himself to the drink he poured for Daine. It won't do him much good in a dream, but old habits, etc, and maybe he can fool himself into feeling at least a little bit buzzed. "Me? I'm peachy. Never better. How's life underground?"

Look at that, an actual question about her.

He doesn't sound very peachy, but his question is more distracting than he probably thought it would be. Daine frowns at her bottle of water, then quietly says, "Harder, now that it's summer. The whole island's starting to feel a bit… cramped." She hunches in on herself a little, as if the rift's supposed barrier is pressing down on her.

Most people don't fall for that tactic...if they cared enough to question him even as far as she did. He rolls one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, not exactly unsympathetic but not seeing how she's only starting to feel that way now. "We've been in a cage from the start," he points out.

Daine shrugs moodily. It's hard to explain without going into how much the People's mindsets can influence her own. Winter is a time for hunkering down and going underground. Even two-leggers tend to hole up to the extent that they can over the winter months. Life at the base had felt sort of natural, in that sense. But spring - spring is about waking up and bustling about and getting things done (and traveling fair distances, if you're a migratory creature).

"Have you ever tried to leave?" she asks suddenly. Oh, she's heard tell that folk can't leave the island, but she's not sure what exactly's stopping them.

"And get captured by our local shadow government? Not likely," scoffs Peter. "Besides," he adds without thinking better of it, "where am I going to go? Not my world."

It's not her world, either, and it's a hell of a lot less like her world than it is his. For Peter, though, there's the knowledge that there's likely another him out there if he hasn't gone the way of Hendrix, and it's bad enough losing his place in the world without competing for it with the local edition of himself. "...Have you?"

Being captured by Romac doesn't seem a likely outcome - not the way she'd plan on leaving. She doesn't doubt that they monitor the typical routes that two-leggers take to and from Manhattan, but she doubts the waterways are as closely guarded. Even the question of where she'd go isn't as daunting as it apparently is for Peter. It's true that the urban areas would be unrecognizable to the average Tortallan, but the wild places are exactly the same - if not safer, due to the lack of immortals. She could survive in the wild quite comfortably.

If she can't get home, just about anywhere would be better than Manhattan.

"I've been thinking about it," she says. "It was too cold to try it before, but I could do it, now." She could.

"...Could you." Peter finally looks directly at her, finally sees that she's serious. He's not sure if he feels hopeful or if he wants to tell her that no, she couldn't. "How? You're not thinking of swimming for Jersey, are you, because I can tell you it gets worse than this."

Does it get worse, though? "Swimming for somewhere, anyway," she says, not sure how detailed she should get. "I could handle worse if it meant I was at least on my way to better."

"There's a lot more city than this," Peter points out. Irritated at finding himself trying to talk her out of it, he adds, "What the fuck do you want to leave for, anyway? You're not going to get home."

Daine scowls. He's missing the point. "There are other rifts out there - probably more than most folk even know about. And if this rift isn't going to take me home, why stay in Manhattan? I'd do better out in the wilderness." She huffs once, bitterly. "Or whatever passes for it." Maybe she'll aim for Canada or something.

"Why do anything?" snaps Peter, who doesn't have an actual argument. He doesn't want her to leave, but that's stupid and he won't say it. "So what, you're going to go live in the woods with the beavers? How's that supposed to be better?"

Well, of course he doesn't understand. He's from a universe like this one, where most two-leggers can't function outside of a city or town and wouldn't dare venture anywhere without a car to protect them. Daine lets out an impatient (and slightly contemptuous) huff of air.

"I can survive just fine out in the wilderness. That would be closer to home for me than Manhattan ever was."

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And the Boats Drift On [Open to All]

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