applesaucedream | The Shavings Off Your Mind are the Only Rent [Open to All]

The Shavings Off Your Mind are the Only Rent [Open to All]

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Picture a house. Actually, picture two houses. They're (almost) identical structures that share an uneasy coexistence, tangled together on a quantum level. One of the houses is Good: bright, cheerful, full of comfortable furniture and a pervasive feeling of safety. The other house is Evil: dingy, dilapidated, and haunted by the dreamers' greatest fears.

The good news - and bad news - is that travel from one house to the other is as simple as passing through a door. All a dreamer has to do is walk through a doorway, any doorway, and they'll find themselves in whichever house they weren't in before they crossed the threshold. Perhaps they'll step out of a beautiful library and find themselves in a threatening hallway - or perhaps they'll flee a menacing kitchen and find themselves in a perfectly safe dining room. That is the nature of the houses' entanglement: every door is a portal between the two.

There are, of course, complications. Dreamers in one house can't perceive the other; if you're in the Good house and looking through a doorway, the space beyond will look as nice and inviting as the space you're in now (until you step through that doorway, of course). Dreamers also can't really perceive one another if they're in the same room, but in different houses, though they might see a flash of movement out of the corner of their eye, or think they heard something.

Perhaps the greatest complications are the houses themselves. They have rather strong personalities, and they aren't very fond of one another. Each house will want to keep you if it can (keep you safe, in the case of the Good house, or keep you for itself, in the case of the Evil one). Dreamers may attempt to cross a hall and find the door that looked open and inviting a moment ago is now barred shut, leaving them trapped in the hall - or have doors suddenly close in their faces before they can end up anywhere unpleasant. Still, there's only so much either house can do, and even a locked door can be jimmied open or busted down.

Escape from the houses is possible, but the formal gardens beyond are similarly entangled, with neatly trimmed lawns and expertly plotted flower beds becoming overgrown tangles of nettles and algae-choked reflecting pools. An archway is as good as a door, as far as the gardens are concerned, and there are plenty of arbors and arches over the paths. Of course, dreamers may find that a sound arbor in the Good garden has collapsed in the Evil one… and heaven help anyone who dares to explore the hedge maze.

[ooc: y'all know the drill. ALL characters are welcome, regardless of whether they're in the game. Characters can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion.

Also, this dream party marks the aforementioned calendar freeze. For the next three weeks, the IG date will sit on July 3rd. Posts dated July 3rd or earlier are allowed and encouraged. The calendar will resume forward motion at a 4:1 ratio on Saturday, July 26th.]

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Wait. Wait, she knows this one. Sunshine sits up a bit straighter, hands gripping the edge of the sill, as awareness starts to seep into her mind like the first milky light of dawn. She holds her breath, and then she has it, the sun finally breaking over the horizon. "We're dreaming!"

She probably sounds a bit more triumphant than such an announcement would warrant, but she isn't always quick on the uptake in these things, and it's nice to not be beaten to the punch for once. Still, this explains everything, and she finally leaves the window so she can flop into one of the armchairs that hasn't been upended. "This happens sometimes," she says with recently unearthed knowledgeability. "Shared dreams - it's a Thing." Not a Thing she particularly enjoys, granted, but she'll gladly take a shared dream over a legitimate vampire threat.

Giles looks around sharply at that. "Shared dreams?" The very idea seems to have calmed Sunshine significantly, but it does little for him. "In my experience, shared dreams are not a 'Thing'," he says pointedly, "and never a good thing when they happen."

He turns to prowl the room, pausing to give the door behind him a glance of interest. If they are dreaming, what could be behind it? He isn't sure he wants to find out. The last shared dream he had, the thing behind the door was waiting to kill him.

Sunshine watches him pace around the room as if it's a cage, and she starts to feel just a little bit sorry for him. He must be new.

"Well, yeah, they're not fun," Sunshine agrees, finally noticing the teapot and thinking: yes. Skeg the whole 'no eating and drinking in dreams' rule, she is going to pour herself some tea. "But they don't seem to cause any lasting damage in my experience." She glances over at Rupert (gods, is that seriously his name? It's so tweedy. What if she can't say it with a straight face?) while she pours herself a cup. "Did you just come through the Rift recently?"

Edited 2014-07-06 22:24 (UTC)

Giles comes to an abrupt halt in his pacing next to the table where Sunshine is pouring the tea. "What rift?"

Bloody hell. If he's fallen through a dimensional portal, he could be anywhere. Suddenly overwhelmed, he sits down heavily in the empty chair by the table, opposite Sunshine, muttering bloody hell under his breath.

He must be really new. Sometimes it takes a few minutes for all the details to filter back - Sunshine knows that all too well - and she offers him a sympathetic wince as he flops into the chair opposite.

"The rift above Central Park," she offers, hoping that might jog his memory. "Came as a hell of a shock to me, too. The Manhattan in my universe isn't exactly, uh, habitable, so when I landed in this one, it was like some kind of carthaginian awful joke."

She takes the liberty of pouring him a cup - he looks like he could use one - then says, "Have some tea…" Okay, she's reasonably certain that if she tries to say 'Rupert' with a straight face, she's going to fail in spectacular fashion, and he's mid-crisis. "… Giles." Is that weird? Whatever. It's better than having an ill-timed snicker at his expense.

Giles registers Sunshine's hesitation over his name, but doesn't think anything of it. Pretty much everyone calls him 'Giles.' Anyway, he has more important things to think about.

"We're in Manhattan?" he asks, confused. "So you're in my universe. That still doesn't explain the dreaming, or how I got here, but -- there's a rift above Central Park? How long has it been there? Who opened it? You said you came through it - has anything else come through?" He instinctively takes the tea Sunshine offers, helping himself to a soothing sip.

"Well… no," Sunshine gently corrects him. "If we both came through the rift, then neither of us are in our home universes. We're both in the Manhattan where the rift dumped us - where it dumps everyone." She shrugs. Being the welcome wagon is not her forte; she's happy to ease rifty sorrows with copious amounts of baked goods, but the whole So You're In Another Dimension 101 orientation business is better left to the experts.

She takes a sip of her own tea, then continues. "It's been at it for years; hundreds of people have come through. I don't know if anyone opened it or if it's naturally occurring. Popular opinion seems to be the latter."

"But I didn't come through any rift," Giles presses. "I am, according to you, dreaming." And while a person's consciousness can travel pretty much anywhere in a dream, the same is not true of the body.

He pauses, considering, sipping his tea - which is much better than any dream tea has right to be - trying to get it all straight in his mind. "I must have been drawn into the dream through the rift. Though how that happened when I am on the other side of the country from it, I have no idea. Inter-dimensional portals shouldn't work that way."

He glances up at Sunshine over the rim of his cup. "Do people often show up in these shared dreams who haven't actually appeared through the rift?"

"From what I understand," which admittedly is not that much, "it's only the one end of the rift that's… anchored… in New York. The other end… wanders." To put it mildly.

His question makes her hesitate. Presuming Spike's telling the truth about the dream where she tried to feed him, then the answer is yes, but the implications aren't very encouraging. "It does happen," she admits. "Happened to me before I actually came through, not that I remember it. But I've… been told that I showed up in a dream before I showed up in Manhattan." Maybe she'll just let him take from that whatever he will instead of explicitly suggesting he put his affairs in order, say goodbye to his loved ones and maybe consider cleaning out his fridge. She makes a face into her tea, then helps herself to another sip.

"So this is a preview of coming attractions," Giles says somewhat sourly, connecting the dots and making exactly the correct assumption. And just when he was settling into his new life in England.

He sighs, and settles back in his chair. "Well at least the dream tea is good," he quips, talking another sip. "And the company interesting," he adds, saluting Sunshine with his cup.

"… Sorry," Sunshine says. Seems he's reached the conclusion she'd sort of hoped he wouldn't (for all that it's probably correct). Is that such a bad thing, though? Hell, she could have done with some warning before the rift snatched her up; at the very least, she would have made sure the morning shift at the bakery was covered…

But she doesn't want to think about her presumed absence or how well everyone is (or isn't) coping. Instead, she shifts her focus to the tea - and the company. His shadows are still some of the most quiet she's seen this side of the rift. There's a very slight movement, but not much of one. That, and the tea appreciation, and that unshakeable aura of propriety he's sporting click together in her mind, and she realizes with a sharp pang that he reminds her of Yolande. Gods, the two of them would probably get along swimmingly.

The little epiphany elicits a faint, sad smile that she disguises with another sip of tea. "Not that interesting," she says, because the ways in which she is interesting are not on her list of pleasant topics of conversation. She's already set him up to protest that escaping from vampires is interesting - damn - and she searches for something else notable but not unpleasant. Well, hell, the transmutation is pretty harmless, right? "Baker and small stuff-changer," she says with a little shrug. "That's about all there is to me."

Giles waves away the apology. "Better to know, I suppose." He'll have to inform the coven, in the event that all of this is real and not just a dream, and that he manages to remember it all.

He catches the shift in Sunshine's eyes, a flicker of something akin to pain, but she moves the conversation along before he can ask about it.

"On the contrary," he argues, "I've found that everyone is interesting in one way or another." Another sip and a studying gaze. "'Small stuff-changer'?" he questions.

Oh, good. He took the bait. "I'm a magic handler," she admits with more readiness than she probably ever has before - with more readiness than anyone over the age of ten would consider dignified, really. "Transmutation, mostly - little things." That's better, less eager is better. "It's not that useful." Except when it's really incredibly useful, which admittedly is not that often.

"Do you have magic in your universe?" Given that he knows about vampires, she'd sort of presumed, but maybe she shouldn't. Gods, it would be embarrassing if he took vampires fully in stride and then reacted to magic handling as if she'd said the sky was green.

"Yes, we do, though I rather suspect it is at least a little different from yours, if our comparison so far is any indication." Like the fact that his universe still has a Manhattan.

"For example, magical ability in my universe tends not to be so specific in its uses. Is transmutation the only thing you can do, magic-wise?" The question could sound condescending, but Giles's tone is full of nothing more than pure interest.

Most of the other universes he's encountered - which, to be fair, is not many - tended to have fairly similar magical laws to his own. He gets the impression that the same is not true of Sunshine's universe, which holds unending fascination for him.

"It's not all I can do," she says, "but it's what I'm best at." Well, it's arguably what she's best at, but she doesn't like to think of the abilities that come with her counter-affinity in such positive terms. You could say she's… adept, maybe, but even that makes it sound like the swell talent SOF sees it as and not something that… well, okay, it prolonged her life, yes, but it also made things so complicated.

"I can open locks," she offers, already reaching. Gods, she needs to cultivate more non-vampire-related magical skills. "And I've managed teleportation a few times." And she accidentally acquired a pet tree - does that count for anything? She sighs into her tea. "I… to be honest, I've spent most of my adult life trying to ignore it." And look how well that worked out for her.

It all still seems so very specific to Giles, like a very young magic handler listing the things she has managed to master. His eyebrows raise at the mention of teleportation, though. That is something only advanced and powerful handlers are able to manage. Even if magic in her universe operates differently, it's a hint that there's much more to Sunshine's abilities than even she knows, and he's surprised to find that she hasn't explored it more.

"Why on earth would you ignore it?" he asks, flabbergasted. It's true that sometimes people don't know about their abilities, but the ones who do always explore it, at the very least, even if they don't cultivate it. And perhaps it's his own interest in magic coloring his view, but to do otherwise simply doesn't make sense.

Speaking of sounding young. Sunshine can't help but quirk her lips in a faint smile at his total befuddlement, like a kid on the playground: why wouldn't you do magic all the time, it's totally thor.

"Because I wanted to be a baker," she says. "Because it… complicates things." She hesitates, then adds in a darker tone, "Because all the active magic-handlers in my family vanished during the Wars. They say it prolongs your life; they don't tell you it makes you a target." Boy, does it ever. One little shift of a knife to a key - and, okay, one monumental job of protecting a vampire from the sun - and she had a master vampire and the Goddess of Pain breathing down her neck. None of that would have happened if she'd just been a baker.

Of course, if she'd just been a baker, she'd be dead.

Giles nods. He understands as well as anyone how magic can complicate things, and why some people would rather not have that in their lives. Thoughts of Willow flicker across his mind and he frowns slightly, eyes distant and faintly troubled. His eyes clear as he turns them back on Sunshine, though the frown remains.

"Wars?" he asks, gently if still with curiosity, knowing that it's likely a sore subject. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Sunshine hesitates. Gods, where to even start? Well, there's the obvious.

"Vampires, mostly," she says flatly. "Well, not just vampires, but they were probably the worst. They'd been, uh... legislated against pretty thoroughly, and there was... backlash." It all sounds so simple, laid out that way, so goddamn textbook. Like people should've expected it. Well. Maybe they should have.

"Anyway," she continues with increasing discomfort, "it was long and... unpleasant... and the population dropped - um, the human population - and there are a lot of Bad Spots, now, where nothing grows anymore and you can't cross them without having screaming nightmares for months, and..." she cuts herself off abruptly, before she builds up such a head of steam that she can't stop. Honestly, she's not sure how to convey the scope of it all to anyone who hasn't lived it.

From what she says, Giles can pretty well extrapolate the scope that lies in what she doesn't. Her wars seem like the very worst of every potential apocalypse or doomsday they've ever faced all put into action. It's clearly painful for her, and he regrets asking, even if she could have said no.

"I'm sorry I asked," he says quietly, instinctively reaching out to lay a hand over hers for a moment.

As he sits back in his chair, he takes on a contemplative air. "The supernatural is not openly acknowledged in my universe," he says, thinking about her indication of legislation against vampires. "The general population isn't ready to accept its reality, even when it sometimes quite literally stares them in the face. My" - he hesitates, choosing an appropriate word - "associates and myself fight against the evil in our world, but we do so in secret."

Sunshine blinks at the sudden warmth of his hand over hers, surprised by the gesture. It's more… paternal… than what she would have expected, given how stodgy he's seemed up until now. She blinks again when he pulls back, then says, "Well, I brought it up." And she could have just told him to mind his own business.

It's a relief when he steers the conversation around to his universe, instead. She's even getting used to the idea of people going about their business unawares of the supernatural stuff that surrounds them. Manhattan has been something of a crash course on that subject.

"Sounds like delicate work," Sunshine says, leaning back into her chair. It also sounds delightfully small-scale compared to her universe. She can't even condescend to him about how nice it must be to have such a tiny demonic problem that keeping it under wraps is even an option; she's too busy being envious.

Delicate? Giles breaks into laughter at that, a wheezing, weary chuckle that echoes lightly around the room. "Yes, quite," he manages, thinking about the state of the Magic Box after his recent confrontation with Willow, about all the times they've seen the world crumbling around them and somehow managed to bring it all back together. His laughter fades, though a soft, wry smile lingers on his lips.

"As I said, people in my universe tend not to look too hard at anything that isn't 'normal.' It makes them easier targets, but it also means they don't ask many questions."

He pauses, completely sober once again, for a sip of now lukewarm tea. "It does make it easier when the evil comes to you," he muses, eyes distant.

It's not a particularly carefree laugh, but the corners of her mouth quirk up in response, anyway. "It's the same in Manhattan," she offers, both to demonstrate that she has a little perspective and to… not reassure him, exactly, because there's nothing reassuring about coming through the rift… but to let him know that he might not have much adjusting to do on that particular front (unlike her).

His second comment startles a strangled little laugh out of her. "Easier?" she repeats incredulously before she can stop herself. "I find it easier when the evil just leaves you alone and lets you live your life."

The wry smile grows slightly, though there is more than a hint of sadness in it now. "As you should, if you aren't involved in fighting it."

He sighs a little and resists the urge to rub a hand over his face, not missing the irony of being tired in a dream. How to explain to someone who finds the idea of fighting against the supernatural to be ridiculous? "There are certain places in my world that demons and the like are drawn to," he begins. "If you are fighting against them and you happen to be based near one of those places, it just means you don't have to track them down."

It all sounds so dispassionately matter-of-fact to his ears, and suddenly he doesn't want to talk about any of it anymore. He waves the whole topic away with a flutter of his hand, setting aside his cold tea to rest his elbows on the table.

"So you're a baker?" he asks, trying for an actual smile this time. "What's your specialty?"

He might be surprised at how unridiculous she actually finds the idea, but she also doesn't really want to talk about it. That's sort of the point. So she bites back the various potential responses that spring to mind, which range from mildly sarcastic to overbearingly grim. And when he changes the subject to her baking, she doesn't fight it.

"Toxic sugar concoctions," she answers. "Well, there's the usual breakfast rush of cinnamon rolls and muffins and different kinds of bread, but then it's mostly cookies and desserts for the rest of the day." She pauses, then clarifies, "That's how it was back home, at my stepdad's coffeehouse. In Manhattan, it's a bit less… varied." Glaser's has a pretty specific menu, and while she's been shaking things up a little bit, there's only so much she can do in a place that just doesn't operate like a sit-down-and-stay-awhile coffeehouse.

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