applesaucedream | Enchantment Under the Sea

Current Music: Evening of July 12th/Morning of July 13th, 2013

Enchantment Under the Sea

Tonight, the dreamers of Manhattan will find themselves transported to what is unmistakably a high school gymnasium. Granted, it's lavishly decorated in blues, greens, and violets. There are jellyfish made of tissue paper and streamers, painted cardboard fish are dangling from ceiling, and an abundance of transparent balloons serve as substitute bubbles. Tables and chairs are clustered around the periphery for those who'd like to sit, but the majority of the floor is open for dancing. Along one wall, folding tables hold snacks and bowls of punch. There's no DJ to be seen, but a sound system is playing a steady stream of classic dance songs.

It's impressive work for a nonexistent prom committee, all things considered.

But the setting is not the only thing that hearkens back to one's teenage years. The dreamers will find, regardless of age or species, that they're now saddled with the hormones of an average sixteen-year-old human being… and with the delightful mood fluctuations and bouts of irrationality that come with the package. (Dreamers who are already teenagers might be said to be getting a reprieve… but dealing with adults in such a state will be trying enough on its own. Someone has to chaperone, right?)

The good news for dreamers who aren't into dances is that there's an entire high school to explore, though the hallways will only be half-lit and many of the classrooms will be locked up. Even the parking lot and athletic fields are accessible, but dreamers may find themselves getting mysteriously turned around if they try to actually leave school property.

[ooc: you all know the drill. Any and all characters are welcome, regardless of whether or not they're in the game. Dreamers may remember or forget the events of the party at the player's discretion.]

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"Hey," he says again, wincing at the apparent shock he's given. He hesitates, then crouches down and shifts against the wall next to him, not too close just yet. "Sorry, I was just, uh... tryin' to be funny." He glances at the schnapps, then back to Eliot, trying not to look too obviously concerned. He's never seen Eliot like this, and isn't really sure what to do about it. "Are you okay?"

He starts to feel a little less ready to flee when Johnny settles in next to him; Eliot doesn't know why he's so edgy now, but he doesn't like it, especially when it means he has a hard time trusting that Johnny isn't going to attack him or laugh at him.

Eliot sighs. "I don't like this kind of dream," he says, staring down at his stupid velvet pants.

Johnny frowns. High school was a shit time for him - it is for everyone, really. But he can't begin to imagine what it was like for Eliot. Based on what little Eliot shared with him before, probably pretty bad.

"Hey." He scoots a little closer and wraps an arm around Eliot's shoulders. "It's gonna be okay. Everyone's feeling weird tonight, but..." He doesn't want to promise no one's gonna pick on Eliot. As easily as he's fallen into the unstoppable, almost desperate patterns of outgoing horniness he'd felt as a teenager, anyone else could have fallen to adolescent dickishness. It's stupid, as short and tiny as he is, and it's not the sort of thing he would ever say in another circumstance, but he sets his jaw and says, "I'll protect you."

Johnny, you don't even know. And Eliot is not likely to share any more tales, because ugh, memories. What a bunch of bastards.

Still, Eliot feels comforted, as laughable as the circumstances are, and he leans into Johnny, chuckling a little in agreement. "My hero," he mumbles. He'll start to find his snarky feet again gradually. "I mean I don't want you to feel like you owe me one from the last dream, but...thanks."

"It's not that," says Johnny, though it is a little bit that. He doesn't think Eliot realizes how very important that was to him. "I just don't want you to feel shitty. Or be afraid of anyone out there. They're all garbage."

He twists and stretches a little, feeling a bit claustrophobic in the cramped little space. The music shifts from cheerful pop to something a little more sexyheavy - hey, he knows this one! - and Johnny is feeling the troublesome need to grind up on someone right about now.

"Well for my first act as hero I'd like to get you out of your little dungeon," he says. He takes Eliot's hand and gives it an encouraging squeeze. "I can't really dance, but... do you want to dance? Or we could stand in a dark corner and make out or something, if that's more your speed." He gives what he hopes is a confident, winning smile. It'll be great! He promises.

Johnny's so damn earnest, Eliot can't take it. His chest feels tight, his eyes start to prickle, and god he hates these stupid feelings. Can't he at least keep himself from crying just because someone said something nice about him?

So when the music changes, it's a welcome and serviceable distraction. Eliot clears his throat. "Y-yeah, okay," he says, nodding and looking out at the crowded floor. "We could dance, or...whatever. Thanks." he squeezes Johnny's hand in return, hoping Johnny will get that there's more than he can really say right now.

Johnny grins and pulls Eliot up with him, out from behind the bleachers and into the world. He draws Eliot out into the midst of it - not right into the crowd, but along the edges, safe within the cluster without being at the center of it.

Eliot's so much taller than him it's kind of comical, but Johnny doesn't mind. He sets his hands at Eliot's hips and holds him close, shifting with him more or less in time to the undanceable pulse of the music. This isn't for dancing anyway, it's for horny kids to rub up on each other. 'Dancing.'

"I'm glad I ran into you," murmurs Johnny, tugging Eliot down by the cravat to give him a little kiss on the cheek. He rocks his hips slightly, grinding just a little, not too hard but enough to suggest. "I'd been thinking about you."

He can't suppress a little shiver of panic as Johnny leads them closer to the mass of people, but the feeling's gone in an instant. There's too many other things for Eliot to focus his attention on. He feels so stupid in this outfit, sure, but Johnny's right here in front of him, smiling at him, and for a while he feels okay.

Eliot likes dancing, and while this isn't really dancing, no, this is formless drifting as an excuse for friction, it's still a nice way to pass the time.

"Oh," he says, after Johnny kisses him. He tries to think of something else to say, something witty and clever. "O-oh, thank you, I guess?" Wow real smooth, idiot. "I mean..." Eliot takes a breath and lets it out, shaky. "I mean I guess I sort of, I missed you."

Johnny snorts and wraps his arms tighter around Eliot's waist. "I'll take 'sort of'," he says, eyebrow arched. He holds Eliot in place and rocks his hips slowly in time to the music, pressing hard against him each time. He's pretty fucking good at this, actually.

"If you, uh, if you're not into your whole getup, here," he says, glancing up at him, now feeling both aggressively horny and shy, god, hormones are the fucking worst. "I might, um, I could help you out of it."

And that's when Peter literally stumbles right into them. That's what happens when you've got your eyes on the hot girl across the room instead of on where you're going. At least he's no longer painfully aroused, but the threat is always lurking and his inability to keep his eyes off the plunging necklines of all the women's dresses isn't helping him avoid it.

"Whoa," he starts, turning to see who he's run into in order to decide whether to apologize or tell them off. He doesn't get that far, though; he's distracted for the moment from the rage-inducing presence of Rabbit Man by Rabbit Man's date, who is wearing the worst thing Peter has ever seen. Laughter rises up from his belly as he takes in the whole ensemble. "Oh, god. Where did you even get that?"

This is the closest to feeling normal that Eliot's been in the dream, and when he's startled out of it by the impact of someone bumping into them, the fragile calm shatters.

Eliot's New Yorker irritation and rage battles it out with teenage insecurity, and the results aren't pretty. "Sh-shut up," he tries to say with some edge, but the laughter is too much for him. He clings a little tighter to Johnny as his voice takes on an almost hysterical tone. "The fuck is your problem?"

Oh fuck this. As if Peter hadn't already thoroughly proved himself to be the god damn worst.

Under a different set of circumstances, this would be an unequivocal overreaction. Eliot's ensemble is objectively terrible, as far as that goes Peter is only asking an innocuous question. But Johnny knows how sensitive Eliot is about it, and more importantly, he just really doesn't like Peter.

So he doesn't hesitate; doesn't even try to consider being the bigger man (which, incidentally, is physically impossible). He releases Eliot sharply enough that he's almost pushing him out of the way, shoving off his lanky friend and launching onto his lanky enemy. He punches Peter hard and fast, right in the face, and comes away with incredibly sore knuckles and an overpowering burst of animalistic rage which somehow feels so damn satisfying. He's so ready to fight this asshole. So ready.

"Back the fuck off," he snaps for good measure, poised for another shot.

Peter starts to hold up his hands as if to say he doesn't mean any harm and doesn't see why the guy's taking it so hard, but he's still laughing as he does so. He doesn't account for Johnny's instant escalation of the situation, either, so he's caught completely by surprise (and square on the cheekbone) by the sudden flying fist. He staggers back under the blow, laughter abruptly cut off. "What the fuck!" he squawks, holding his hands in front of his face in case of another blow. Johnny's not going to get a chance to explain what the fuck, though, because his defensive posture morphs very quickly into an attack posture as he swings a fist at Johnny's face in return.

Johnny catches a blow right on the chin, swings again and hits Peter in the stomach. He's a lot smaller but also, he expects, a little more nimble, so he uses this to his full fucking advantage, darting under Peter's arms and grabbing him around the waist, trying to knock him over.

He's not even sure what's going on with Eliot anymore. Is this even about Eliot? Sort of, but also, this is great! Fighting! FIGHTING.

Well Eliot was highly fucking alarmed for a second there, even though this guy is not any of the guys who repeatedly kicked his ass when he was in grade school, and he barely even did anything, but old fears are tenacious.

But everything changed when ~~the Fire Nation attacked~~ Johnny shoved him out of the way like some some fucking cowboy defending a damsel's honor. Eliot stands at the periphery of this altercation, staring in disbelief at the way these two are going at it. And, he has to be honest with himself, it is a little hot to see someone fight for him, but he really hopes Johnny isn't going to make a habit of this. Eliot also hopes this isn't all about him, because this seems like way too much violence for a couple of strangers to be engaging in, and also it would be highly embarrassing.

"Uh," says Eliot, fiddling with his stupid cravat. "Um, you don't...need to go to all this trouble..."

Oh god, it keeps happening.

"Little fucker!" shouts Peter as he's felled like a tree. He's given up on proper punches, satisfying himself with crazed, open-handed blows to Johnny's head that take advantage of the shorter man having latched onto him. On the floor, he twists and kicks, trying to get on top before Johnny can get him completely trapped on his back.

Odd's bobs. Can't folk just keep from causing a ruction for five gods-blessed minutes? She's going to have to stay in elephant shape all night at the rate things are going.

At least Johnny's less of a burden than Crowley was. It's fair easy for her to wrap her trunk around him and lift him up off of Peter. That's enough, she says sternly. Then, exasperation creeping into her tone, What are you even fighting for? She's noticed Eliot, of course, but he just strikes her as someone sensible enough to have stayed out of the fight, and not the indirect cause of it.

Peter gets in several hits amidst the wild flailing, and Johnny's ears are ringing by the time something wraps around his waist and lifts him off the fucking ground. He lets out a spectacularly uncool yelp and struggles instinctively for a few seconds before it becomes immensely clear a) who is behind this, b) that he really doesn't want to dropped.

"Holy shit, Daine!" he says, half-hysterical, half ablaze with teenage aggression. At least apparently in dreams she can talk to him without making her head human, that would be problematic on several fronts. "Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack?!"

Peter feels Johnny start to lift off him before he sees the cause, and takes the opportunity to scramble out from under him, taking another swipe as he does so. Then he stops, staring up at the fucking elephant holding Johnny in its trunk from the floor. He stares, slack-jawed, but recovers quickly enough to answer her question.

"This asshole attacked me!" he says, gesturing to the asshole in question.

And Eliot can't do anything but stand there, useless, watching this ridiculous tableau unfold. He should do something, at the very least he should pull Johnny away from this guy, who seems like he wants to do some real harm here, but Eliot feels paralyzed. He can't really process that this is happening, and it's only when some immense thing lifts Johnny up into the air that he's shaken out of it.

Of course the thing turns out to be a fucking elephant, and Eliot jumps back and shrieks at the sight of the massive creature, who is...scolding them for fighting?

Okay so maybe not really an elephant. She certainly has that tone of "I'm getting too old for this shit," which Eliot would expect coming from such a sage and dignified creature, but the voice in his head sounds young, like, teenager young, so who knows.

"I...I'm sorry," he says, finally finding the wherewithal to speak up after the guy starts talking (okay maybe true from some perspective) shit about Johnny. "I feel like I'm to blame."

If Daine's trunk wasn't otherwise occupied, she'd snort. Goddess forbid, she says dryly. Though if your health is such a grave concern of yours, you might try not getting into fights. That last bit is emphasized by a low rumble, the floor shuddering as if someone's suddenly cranked the bass. Still, her grip on him is as gentle as she can make it without dropping him entirely, so she's not sure what he's complaining about.

She's in the process of helping Peter up with one of her own enormous feet when Eliot speaks, and then she trains an eye on him. Oh? She wouldn't care about the details if she didn't know the combatants involved, but she does. Since this fellow seems able and willing to talk sense, might as well ask him. What happened, then?

"Pfft," says Johnny, ridiculously, in response to that - but the fight has more or less gone out of him by now, growing rapidly more concerned with how he's still being dangled in midair. He kicks slightly, without much feeling.

"Wh - no, he's not," he blurts in surprise when Eliot tries to take the blame. He flails an arm wildly at Peter, absurdly trying to control the situation from his extremely unconducive position. "That asshole was making fun of him, so I - I went off. I'm not proud of it." He is, a little. "Look, this dream is fucking with all our heads. High school dance and the raging hormones to go with it. None of us are responsible for our actions, okay?"

Except Peter. He's always a jerk.

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Enchantment Under the Sea

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