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]

photo JulyDreamPartyImage01_zps8d9e51ff.jpg

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yeah, I know," says Johnny. "That's how I felt the first time too. But..." He shrugs. "Every once in a while the rift drags everybody into one of these things and we all get to fuck around for a while until it decides it's done. So, may as well play the game while we're here, huh?"

He opens the door - no resistance at all this time - and steps through without even looking at the tantalizing view beyond. Not worth getting his hopes up.

It's a dining room, sensibly enough, but the chandelier hangs at a precarious angle, wreaths of cobwebs trailing down, the curtains spill ghostlike across the floor - some of the floorboards are broken, leaving dangerous gashes in the floor. The massive table, once impressive, is now a deteriorating relic. Still set. Dusty plates and silverware. A centerpiece full of dead flowers.

Worst of all are the guests, so to speak. For a moment Johnny thinks they're other dreamers, but no, not at all - one to each chair, no food before them, utterly unmoving. Each one a rough-textured gray-white color. The color of drywall.

He steps forward, hesitant and fearful, leaning down to look closely. They're human-shaped, but they don't have features of any kind, just blank, flat faces.

He reaches out, very slowly, trembling, and touches the arm of the nearest ghoulish specimen. He half expects it to jerk to life the moment he makes contact, but it remains still, cold, lifeless. Just an eerie series of sculptures.

"Plaster," he murmurs, straightening up. "God. Creepy as shit."

Which is when, belatedly and of fucking course, the statuesque figure turns toward him with a horrible crunch, its arm snapping up before he can scream, a clumped, fingerless hand seizing him tightly by the throat.

Edited 2014-07-10 08:01 (UTC)

Rashad can tell immediately that the things before them have no life in them. Even the calmest mortal gives off vibes at all times, and there is absolutely no emotion coming from any of them. The room itself is malevolent, but with Johnny's warning and his experience in the basement Rashad expected as much. He is not afraid, of course, but after encountering a zombie he expects worse than an unpleasant scene to look at.

And worse they get. He has a split second in which to make his decision. Whether any given human lives or dies is not so great a thing in the balance of the universe, but Johnny is currently personally useful to him and mortal death, though ultimately unavoidable, is a form of entropy. His own hands snap out, taking hold of the plaster forearm in two places and twisting with inhuman strength, intending to tear the limb apart.

"Fuck-!" The word comes out strained as the plaster man squeezes Johnny's throat, and his hands grasp immediately at the thing's hand, trying uselessly to dislodge it. It's strong, way too strong for him to effect any difference.

Rashad is upon it at once, and he rips its arm apart like it's nothing.

Johnny's eyes go wide and he staggers back; for a horrible moment the plaster hand is still clenched around his neck, but then it falls away, breaking apart when it hits the floor.

"Jesus!" he snaps, his voice higher and more strained than usual, still recovering from the assault. "How the fuck did you-"

No time to find out. The other creatures have all risen and are advancing on both of them, three of them angling toward Rashad, as though they can tell he's the more difficult target. Johnny scrambles back from the two coming his way, looking about the room for any kind of bludgeon. He finds it in the form of an ornate lamp standing innocuously off to the side. He grabs it and holds it like an incredibly impractical baseball bat, scowling at the plaster zombies.

"Fuck off!" he yells, and takes a wild swing at he nearer of the two. It turns out that lamps are not very good at being bludgeons. The thing shatters against the plaster, taking out only a chunk, not nearly enough to disable it.

"Um." He skirts away from them. Maybe running is his best option here. "Rashad??"

Ah, perhaps he should have foreseen that this would require an explanation. It's been such a very long time since he took such direct action where a mortal could see him doing it. Fortunately, Johnny's too busy a moment later to insist on hearing it just yet, and Rashad has the presence of mind to summon a frightened expression and cast about for a weapon he doesn't really need. It would be much better if he didn't use fire this time, both because it would be more to explain and because he's not sure Johnny could take it if he used the human to refuel again so soon.

He grabs the nearest chair and uses it to shove the nearest creature back, the wooden legs breaking about as easily as its plaster body. "Run!" he shouts, injecting fear into his voice. "Try to get to the farther door!"

There's no room to just dodge around the three converging on him, so Rashad throws his elbows and the chair into a full-body slam against the one between him and Johnny. The furniture splinters in his hands as he knocks the creature out of his path, all but taking off one of its arms from the shoulder down in the process. He drops the remains of the furniture and grabs at Johnny, pushing him toward the door in apparent panic while also steering him away from the attackers with more deftness than a man under such stress should possess. "Go! Go!!"

Johnny doesn't need to be told twice, but he can't really complain about being all but manhandled toward the door. It's very obvious now that Rashad is something - a little more adept than him, to put it mildly, and it's hard to argue with a powerful someone shoving him toward safety. He scrambles along, struggling to keep up, and rushes at the door, fully expecting it to be locked. The doors are always locked, in the shitty house.

To his immense surprise, it opens without any resistence. He doesn't spare a moment to question it; mouth of a gift horse and all. He hurls himself through, pulling Rashad along after him, letting the doors slam on their nightmarish art project assailants.

"Christ," he says, doubling over, taking a moment to catch his breath. They've come into a luxurious looking sitting room, a fireplace, some armchairs and some books - is that a liquor cabinet? Hell yes. They can afford a little detour.

"Sssso," he says, glancing a little surreptiously at Rashad as he makes his way to the alcohol. "That was... intense. What you did in there, I mean."

Rashad notes the unexpected ease with which they exit the room. He's not sure what this house wants from them, though Johnny's death appears to be a desired option. The difference is like night and day when they step over the threshold into the 'good' sitting room on the other side. There's no lingering fear this time, of course, because there was no feeding, but Rashad makes sure his breathing remains suitably quick as he ensures that the doors are latched.

"It is a dream, is it not?" he asks, breaking into a sheepish, relieved smile. The excuse came to him as easily as most lies do. "I had many nightmares as a child," he adds to sell it. "Until I learned how to fight back. Are you alright?"

It's completely false, of course. Knowing it's a dream hasn't changed anything; he knows already that he can call on the strength and powers he possesses in the waking world, but if he were any more empowered than that the house wouldn't still be standing now.

"Right," says Johnny vaguely - that sort of makes sense. And he knows a lot of rifties have a certain sway over dreams, a natural ability to make changes. He can do it sometimes, just... not like that. He shrugs. "I'm fine."

He selects a beautiful old bottle of either whiskey or scotch - or possibly rye? - and pours a roughly measured double shot into a nice, clean-looking snifter. "Drink?" he offers.

A lot of things about Rashad only sort of make sense. Usually he's better able to hide it, but needs must. He considers the offer, then decides that anyone who had been through what just happened would want a drink. Anyway, it's a dream. The things he consumes here can't really affect him.

"Please," he nods.

Johnny pours another and hands it over, then sips his own a bit gingerly. Dream or not, that hits the fucking spot.

"God," he mutters, and makes his way to one of the armchairs, slumping into it. "Well, if I'd known the bad rooms were gonna ramp up to that level of fucked, maybe I'd have stayed in the kitchen."

He glances longingly at the window, at the gardens beyond. He's tried already, in multiple rooms, to open or even break the windows and escape that way, but the dream seems hellbent against any shortcuts. Why does everything have to be such a goddamn ordeal.

The whiskey warms its way down his chest, feeling real enough that he can let his muscles relax. "So tell me about yourself," he says drolly, eyeing his odd companion.

This is familiar. Whenever Rashad begins to think that this new world has changed beyond recognition, some little human tradition crops up in nearly the same exact form as he last saw it. He gives his own drink a little sniff and an apparently appreciative sip, though he's not particularly interested in it. Food and drink are hardly ever interesting to him.

"The others weren't so bad, then," he notes. The zombie certainly was not as dangerous, though Johnny's fright at seeing it was understandable. He gives a halfhearted shrug and decides to tell a portion of the truth. "I came through the rift a few days ago," he says truthfully, deliberating about whether to tell Johnny how far in time he has come. It would explain any apparent eccentricities, but he is aware that he likely does not seem as overwhelmed as he should be. "To be quite honest I'm not sure what to make of it all...I seem to have lost a century or two along the way. What about you? Are you from this world?"

"Nah, I came through a little over a month ago, it's - holy shit, a century?" Johnny sits up straight and stares at him over the top of the glass. "Or two? Jesus." He shakes his head slightly, trying to get his head around this. So what would two centuries be - the industrial revolution, maybe?

"That must be one hell of an adjustment," he says, fairly stunned. "You seem pretty all right, considering. I mean, like. Not completely losing it, so." He sits back a bit and tips the glass. "Cheers." He drinks, finishing it off. So nice. The warmth and creeping buzz are all in his head, but at least there'll be no hangover when he wakes up.

"And I thought I had it bad," he says. "I just missed about fourteen years. At least I know what cars are."

"You have no idea," chuckles Rashad. And really, he doesn't. "I'm well-traveled," he says ruefully, as if that would explain his ability to acclimate to the future with relative ease. "Though cars were certainly a surprise, I'll grant you that. I am doing my best to learn, but I don't even know what questions I should be asking. This place -- this dream -- it's a little more like home. The nice rooms, at least."

His own drink is more or less forgotten in his hand. He doesn't really partake unless he's under the influence of an emotion that prompts it; while his semi-mortal body can take a good deal of alcohol there's no sense in impairing his judgment and coordination.

Johnny watches him, still mildly surprised at how well he's taking it, but then, maybe he comes from a universe where this sort of thing is less... staggering? Who knows.

"Yeah, it's kinda overwhelming at first," he says. "It's good if you can get to know people who've been here a while though." He fiddles with his glass, gazing into the middle distance, losing himself momentarily in thought. "I was pretty lucky."

Rashad is silent for a moment, remembering his limited interactions in the waking world with anyone who indicated knowledge of the rift. "I have not been so lucky," he admits. A solution presents itself easily, though. "Perhaps I could find you again when we're awake," he suggests. "I don't think I'm in the future of my own world. There are too many differences."

Like a lack of zombies...and of sapient diversity.

"Yeah, all right," says Johnny mildly. He's still not sure about this guy, even though nothing really specific has presented itself as being questionable about him. He's just... odd. And he has a hell of a lot of catching up to do, gotta give points for that. Still, he's not sure he wants to just invite him over right away. "You staying anywhere?"

The matter of his living situation is one Rashad is reluctant to address, but he has no answer prepared other than the truth. He has already admitted that he has not received help and does not know what to do. "At the moment? In a shelter for vagrants." He sounds embarrassed. If he could really be embarrassed, he would be and he knows it.

"Shit," says Johnny, eyebrows raised. "That sucks, man." He's not sure what to suggest - really, that should have been where he ended up, if he hadn't been lucky enough to meet Jodie and Aiden, with their ATM theft capabilities - and then if Gabriel hadn't taken an interest in him. None of those options work in an advisement situation.

"Well," he says, floundering slightly, "it's good that you have somewhere. There are resources, too, I mean for rifties. If you need them." He doesn't really know much about the factions, nor is he too thrilled about either of them, from what he's learned. But it's something.

"Anyway, I usually remember these dreams," he says, "so I could meet you somewhere tomorrow? If... you have any idea where you'll be?"

"Are there? I was given the impression we were less than welcome in the city," replies Rashad. He's done his best to hide that he is not from this world since the strange girl with the fake emotions informed him of the situation...and of the general opinion that 'rifties' are dangerous and unnatural.

He shrugs. "I'll most likely be at the library. I'm still learning my way around this time and place, and it seems a good way to start."

"Well, it depends," says Johnny vaguely. "We sort of have to stick together, I guess." Ugh, community. Whatever.

The library. Makes sense, but Johnny has a bit of trouble recalling where any of them even are. There's one on 5th, right? The famous one.

"Okay," he says. "Well. Sometime tomorrow I'll head over to the library, then. The one on 5th." Sure. That oughta do it.

Rashad is vaguely aware that there will be other libraries in the city, but he doesn't recall the name of the one at which he's been camped out. Anyway, it's grand enough that it ought to be the library.

"The one on 5th," he confirms, wondering if either of them will remember in the morning.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

no subject

no subject

cw brief choking, also violence against lamps

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject