applesaucedream | Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

photo encampmentunderthesea_zps98ceddce.jpg

Since the dreamers of Manhattan had such a lovely time at the last vaguely-nautical-themed party, the Rift has decided to step things up a notch. Tonight, the dreamers will find themselves in what appears to be a city very much like the one they inhabit in the waking world, full of towering skyscrapers, neon signs, and heavy traffic. But there is one rather crucial difference: this city is located deep underwater, and the aforementioned traffic is mostly whales and fish, with the occasional submersible thrown into the mix.

The walls and windows are heavily reinforced to withstand the pressure of the water outside, and the people who dwell in these buildings seem to be doing rather well for themselves, for the most part. Buildings are connected by enclosed walkways, so barring any horrible accidents, the dreamers should have no problem getting around without getting too wet.

Much like the city they inhabit in the waking world, some areas are more obviously affluent than others, and the dreamers are as likely to stumble upon an upscale club as an underwater pub. But while the chances of a full structural breakdown are slim, there are definitely some areas that are on the leaky side, and a general sense of claustrophobia pervades the city wherever you might find yourself.

Explore. Or, if you're feeling particularly ambitious, attempt to escape. Either way, take care - it's hard to say what might be lurking in the darkness just beyond the city lights.

[ooc: Y'all know the drill. All characters are welcome, whether they are in the game or not. Characters can remember or forget the events of the dreaming at the player's discretion. And the party never stops - backtag into infinity!]

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"Oh, sure," says Johnny, half disgust and all miserable resignation. "Let me get right on that."

Nowhere to go, of course; well, there's the way he came and the opposite door, which leaves his choices as "walk past him" or "retreat." Neither is a good option, as he knows from experience.

This leaves him more or less backed against a wall, which is neither unfamiliar nor a decent alternative. He's fucked, through and through. He's almost getting used to it.

"Shouldn't you be on the other side of it anyway?" he mutters with a defiant little jerk of his chin.

Zagreus shakes his head--he can feel the pathetic near-apathy coming off Johnny in waves. Dimly he connects that it probably means something, something other than himself, has happened to Johnny, maybe ongoingly, maybe just in this dream, maybe both! If he cared he could pursue it, maybe he will, maybe he'll just be proud of having had the thought. Poor little placeholder, zero, fool. Defiance is always preferable, even--especially--the hopeless kind. Johnny can't seem to get that right.

"Not I, said the cat." His thoughts are disjointed, he's noticing. Perhaps he ought to spend more time...well, somewhere, elsewhere. Not the cobwebby corners of the Dreaming, anyway. Increase the dosage of linearity. Vague thoughts about pressure-cookers surface and submerge uneasily. "Maybe if it were up to you. And then what would you be? Pheasant under glass? Classy." Unease forgotten or deliberately ignored, he laughs at what isn't really much of a joke.

Johnny peers at him, a little thrown by what seems like more incoherent madness than usual. Not what he'd expected, though he can't really know what he expects, if anything. The purple scar stands out on Zagreus' cheek, uncomfortably vibrant. Johnny does his best not to look at it.

"Whatever you say," he says hesitantly. He steps an inch to the side in a bit of a test, maybe if he goes really slowly and unassumingly, he won't be hindered.

Oh, is it time for that dance already, the one where Johnny tries to ignore him and forces him to make some kind of willful show? He hasn't forgotten the scar, by any means, and Johnny not looking isn't going to change that. But he can respect a futile, superstitious gesture.

Lashing out psychically is almost a reflex, the Dreaming is primed for these kind of electrical charges like the air before a storm, stink of ozone and phonograph squeal of a needle dragged across the brain's grooves. But curiously short lived, communicative really, a warning tap. He makes a scornful little sound. "Not so bold without any of your various protectors, I take it. Surprised they let you out unattended. Or is everyone bored of you yet?" That wasn't quite right. He shifts his gaze, looks almost guilty. "Already." He feels groggy, and a little overwrought, despite all the soothing claustrophobia.

Johnny flinches at the touch, but it doesn't linger, and stranger still, Zagreus still seems... wrong, somehow. Lost? Sort of... declawed, maybe? Like a formerly vicious animal that's been beaten into submission. Johnny hasn't actually encountered him since his last really bad nightmare, before Gabe came back. But this Zagreus seems off.

"I mean, obviously," he says, hesitating, not knowing even what to say. The remarks don't have enough bite to even get under his skin in the usual way. Maybe it's because he's met Lucifer now, and Lucifer almost killed him in the real world, that sets this somehow apart, but... he doesn't feel as afraid as he should. Or if he does, it's a sort of tamped-down fear. A tolerant captive.

"Are..." He can't believe he's about to fucking say this. "Are you okay?"

Zagreus looks aghast. Not at Johnny agreeing with his hurtful assessment, that's neither expected nor unexpected really, it just is. But did Johnny really just. Now the dreamlike confusion is there in full force, because things like that really can't make sense in the light of reality. What a moronic, nonsensical question! And audacious. And, strangely, sickening. A social faux pas, so inexcusable he can't address it. May as well have belched at the Queen's table. How appalling.

"I looked for limits," limits to the Dreaming, and when was the last time that hurried frenetic dismay took hold in his voice, a Lovecraftian protagonist well after the penny's dropped and the horrors of the uncaring cosmos have been revealed. For a moment he feels betrayed. As much as he hates to deal with the smallness of reality, losing himself to the Dreaming is a sudden and real fear. Well what of it? He would just have to be more aware. His typical protracted sulks carry more risk here. "Don't do that." It's a sharp and potentially very versatile admonishment.

Johnny blinks. Whoa. What just happened.

He made Zagreus uncomfortable. Not angry, not vengeful, not mirthfully violent. But uncomfortable.

This is new. And there's sort of a sick excitement he feels in it, an ugly little thrill he hasn't ever felt in these interactions before. Treating Zagreus like a person is something he doesn't even know how to react to. Who the fuck knew.

"Sorry," he says, mildly. "You just seem... I don't know. Different." 'Limits', whatever he means by that - maybe he's pushed too hard. Maybe he actually does have weaknesses, here and there.

"I'm gonna..." Maybe he can just... walk away. Maybe this Zagreus won't pursue him. He takes a few steps away, keeping himself angled toward the beast, watching for sudden movements. "...I'm gonna go." Somewhere. Anywhere. "Gonna go see if I can find a fucking drink, or something. Maybe you should try that too."

It's not really an invitation. It's not not an invitation, but only in the sense that he sort of wants to see how weird he can make this before he escapes.

Well why on earth would Zagreus know how to respond to being treated like a person? He isn't. It is not so, it was not so, and God forbid it should be so, etc etc. Hasn't he done everything he can to ensure that's the case?

He tilts his head, watches Johnny sidle by him like he's an aggravated snake on a trailside rock, it's somewhat pacifying and he's still so bemused, enough so he doesn't even lash out. That wasn't even what he'd meant, he'd been warning Johnny as much as trying to get him to cease and desist with his inappropriate questioning. Best to bypass all that, not unlike how Johnny is trying to bypass him, which is completely unacceptable of course. "A dream drink. I admit I hadn't tried. You know, perhaps I should." He bows his head with a facsimile of social grace, as much to unpin Johnny as indicate any good will or lack of ill intent.

"Yeah," says Johnny, feeling entirely less confident with that smile. Nope. Nooope. Time to go.

"Well good luck with that," he says, and turns his back. He moves quickly without running. This is stupid. He turned his back, that's the thing we don't do, but it's either that or move away crablike until he smashes his head against the round metallic doorframe, such as it is.

His footsteps echo loudly, and his palms sweat.

Nice try, but no. Zagreus has no trouble keeping up with Johnny's dark alley don't look back not-running pace, oozing into his blind spot with much quieter steps. The Dreaming may have given him a wicked hangover, but he's still at home in it, probably too much so. And what better airline stewardess back to the problems of the real world than Johnny, right? Technically that's a terrible half-notion.

"The Dreaming is dangerous in its limitlessness. I should have seen that before," he sets forth, regardless of Johnny's discomfort or unsuitability as a conversational partner. It doesn't matter, what a rare honour for poor little placeholder Johnny. "I thought I was the worst thing here, because I'm. Distinct." That isn't quite what he'd meant to say, but it's close enough, or he can try again later, like the 8-ball says, whichever.

Johnny jerks slightly when he starts talking again, but manages not to turn back around.

"Whatever you say, buddy." Walk a little faster now. The corridor comes to an end up ahead, opens into something bigger. Somewhere public, godwilling.

"You aren't even the worst thing up here anymore," he mutters, tapping a finger on his own head. Between Lucifer and the nightmares and the endless self-created fears and doubts - Zagreus had almost started to blend into the background.

Zagreus makes a vexed almost-scoff. Johnny's glib brush-off would mean a lot more if he weren't picking up the pace like he's gonna break a heel or trip over a tree root any second, narratively speaking. And then there's the rest of it, is he really so eager to prioritise his nightmares? Yes, of course he is, what a collection he must have by now, surely he can dream up new arrangements for them endlessly, alphabetised, by colour. "I never was. When it comes to terrorising yourself, you are wholly self-sufficient, a trait I admire. So nice to work with a fellow artist, sometimes." Capricious, cruel, starting to feel a little more within the boundaries of himself once more.

Johnny makes a vexed definite-scoff, well more like a grunt really, he's too harried for scoffs. "Shut up," he says curtly. "Stop following me." Which is the kind of thing you say because you're obligated to, not because you think it'll make an inch of difference.

He steps through the portico, into an expansive room, some kind swank-ass underwater night club, sure, okay. This is exactly what he needed.

"Look," he says, gesturing widely. "Options. Go find somebody new to break."

And he flips Zagreus off, wheels around and strides over to the bar.

Easy on the charm there Johnny, this place is too Deco to be equipped with fainting couches. The judges give the attempted conversational exit a 10 for effort though. But the rude little urchin isn't going to slither away that easily. Zagreus is nothing if not persistent, or used to opposition; it's practically the background radiation of his existence. He treats Johnny's retreat as an invitation, drifting to the bar a step or two behind.

"Oh, I haven't the heart. Besides, why sell yourself short? That's your problem, you never know what to make of yourself. I'm sorry I haven't been more help." The dangerous limitlessness is still out there, but Johnny's too easy a target, it's such a corroborant, he really ought to owe him. "Seems like you could have used it."

A laugh bursts out of him, short-lived and surprising. "I forgive you," he says, too dry to be properly indignant, too bewildered to be afraid. Reaching the bar, he drops unceremoniously onto a seat and asks for whiskey.

Zagreus is still there, tracking him, shadowing. Johnny gives him a shifty, sidelong stare, trying to gauge his unpredictability. Where is this headed? Is he in danger, or is this really going to be them having a fucking drink?

He's not sure which would be worse.

He sits at a slight angle, braced, like he might need to make a break for it at any moment. His posture betrays the affected nonchalance in his tone when he says, "So what's your poison? Something legitimately fucking fatal, I hope."

"Another time, perhaps. Though I imagine that would be hard to manage, I've inherited a lot of resilience." His not-so-subtle dig for information hadn't gotten the desired results, but at least it had been amusing, apparently. And not insincere, not really. Sure he takes liberties with the concept of help, but he does regret a lack of involvement, especially if something interesting has been going on. He'll have to work harder for the digest of what he'd missed. Oh well.

He's fully aware of Johnny's wariness and unease, and disregards it utterly. Why would it be one or the other? Having a drink with Zagreus is probably a danger on its own. He orders the same thing, out of apathy and on an impulse he doesn't bother to examine. Unlike Johnny--Johnny he examines quite sharply. Definitely time to do that instead of examining a dream ocean or himself.

"What did you mean, that I'm not the worst thing in your head?" Let's unpack that. Let's also remember what a favour Zagreus is doing by asking, instead of just peeking in the fridge like it's his own damn house and he bought those sodas. Really just getting full marks for social manoeuvering today.

Johnny sips his whiskey, slow and continuous, sands seeping steadily downward through the funnel of an hourglass. He glances over at Zagreus from the corner of his eye, watching him watch. Unnerving, but in a way he's almost used to now.

The question is almost delightful. He laughs again, a little less awkwardly, and sets his glass down.

"Haven't you heard," he says, "you're not the meanest kid on the block anymore. Satan's in town."

Lucifer hadn't exactly got into his head, but he'd given him a fresh experience to have lots of new nightmares about. So fucking considerate.

"He might be an even bigger piece of work than you," he says, almost managing to sound like he's enjoying this. He needs to drink more. He does.

Zagreus squints a little. What was funny about that question? Clearly Johnny's not all there. What else is new. He swallows the better part of his own drink in judgment.

"I was under the impression Satan didn't exist, or are you just being dramatic?" The irony isn't lost. So, a new monster of some kind, presumably Johnny had stepped in its flowerbed and reaped predictable results. Is there a seeing eye animal for the woefully lacking in foresight? "I feel like it could go either way, here."

"Real Satan," says Johnny. "The actual Devil." He almost brings up the strained fraternity between Lucifer and Gabriel, but he doesn't want to give Zagreus anything to work with.

"He showed up a few days ago and killed a bunch of people in the Park. You really have been living under a rock, haven't you?" Casually vicious, or at least casual. He doesn't have it in him to try for anything else.

"You should seek him out. Step on his toes. See what happens." Wouldn't it be great if the two could just cancel each other out somehow? Too convenient to be possible, he supposes bitterly.

Zagreus ignores the barb, absorbed by gossip as he is, taking a drink and peering over the glass with brightly intrigued eyes. "That's quite a tall order, did anyone check to make sure?" He doesn't know how exactly that would be done, who is equipped for that kind of fact-checking. Maybe him, actually; Johnny's snide little suggestion isn't half bad when you think about it. Who better to be the judge about myths made real? Sounds like it could be a diversion of sorts anyway.

"Maybe I should. What'd he do to you?" The thing he'd carefully avoided answering. But it's important. You go on vacation for a few days, weeks, whatever, and someone just helps themselves to your stuff. That's unconscionable.

The whiskey goes down unpleasantly with that. He finishes it off and stares ruefully at the glass before setting it down, an unspoken request for more.

"Nothing," he mutters. "He's just a dick. Just like you."

He gets his refill and downs almost all of it at once. His head is starting to hurt.

Boy is that believable, Johnny. Hey, got any bridges for sale? The insult is as watered down as the drinks aren't, and Zagreus isn't buying any of it. Now who seems off? He notes this carefully, and Johnny's drinking speed too, like ticking things off some mental clipboard of instability.

"Nothing, is it? Doesn't seem so bad, then," he chides, quiet, like he means not to spook some skittish thing. It's not particularly soothing; the threat and unpredictability is always going to happen eventually. "There must have been something."

"What do you care?" he says petulantly. "Fuck you, man, I didn't ask for your company."

He finishes off the second glass. Man, he's glad you can't get hungover from dream liquor.

He beckons at the bartender for a third. When in Rome, or wherever.

Zagreus can only sigh in response. What a stubbornly incautious thing Johnny is. And not very bright, either. If he didn't want Zagreus to be curious he shouldn't have brought it up. He knew what it was when he invited it for a drink, or at least he ought to have. Maybe Johnny never read any fables as a child.

But coddling him certainly won't teach him anything. Zagreus clears his second glass like he actually needs the fortitude to deal with this frustration, and reaches for Johnny, calmly but without hesitation, still like handling a nervous animal. He gives him zero warning or time to panic, a cool, gentle touch at Johnny's temple, wading into the slurry of alcohol, anger, and generalised distress that is his mind. What a dump, he'd almost forgotten. Maybe next time Johnny will be more forthcoming with answers to perfectly reasonable questions and this won't have to happen. It is, as always, a callous invasion, with no regard whatsoever for his victim's wellbeing, digging through whatever catches his interest. Like reading the paper; who cares if it gets a bit wrinkled?

Johnny's taking another sip when Zagreus touches him, and he's only distantly aware of the glass shattering on the floor beside him, liquor slashing across his jeans. He can't move. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking idiot, you knew this would happen and you went ahead anyway, because what does it matter, right? It was going to happen no matter what.

So much to think about. It's as much a mess as the house was after he'd left Seth alone with it, with the power fucking him up and devouring him inside out, the house all twisted and ruined and closing in oppressively, trying to crush him, his visit to the TARDIS already a distant memory then and even further away now. That was where he'd finally seen Gabe again, and told Gabe he loved him. Stupid. He wishes he hadn't.

There's what Zagreus is looking for, the memory still strong and sticking forefront in his mind. Lucifer snapping his fingers to mimic Gabe, leaving Johnny with his hands and legs trapped in the floor, which is trying to swallow him, or break him apart. He feels it again, viscerally, like it's happening now, the wood cutting into his skin, fuck, no no no no-

It is almost with surprise that he rips his hand free, as if suddenly remembering oh right, you can do this; even more of a surprise is that the reaction is physical, manifests outward: his arm snapping up as if tugged by marionette strings, the back of his hand connecting sharply, unintentionally, serendipitously, with Zagreus' face.

The tension released, he tumbles backwards right off the stool, landing heavy on the carpeted floor. He scrambles back, barely noticing as he cuts his hand on the broken glass. He has to put as much distance between himself and the monster as he can.

"Stay the fuck away from me," he snaps, his voice heavy and raw with fear.

Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

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tw: references to minor injury/blood

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cw uh nightmares, asphyxiation, blood

asphyxiation intensifies

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