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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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.

The surprise is certainly mutual. That's a new sort of fighting back, that Zagreus has heretofore not witnessed, and then there's the abruptly severed connection, like a slap in the face. The actual, literal slap in the face almost, but not quite, pales in comparison. It's more startling than painful, but blindly enraging nonetheless, and it's just as well that Johnny has fallen/scrambled out of reach. It gives Zagreus time to react something other than instinctively and violently. He slips off his stool and follows Johnny's frantic backwards crawl, again with that measured, implacable manner, ignoring Johnny's words. Like these struggles are beneath him, like he has absolutely no doubt that he can outlast whatever panicked backlash Johnny generates, with a constrictor's patience.

He stoops and grabs Johnny by the fabric of his clothes, at chest and shoulder, starts to haul him back to his feet. "You're making a scene," he chides. He still has questions about what he's seen, after all.

The cuts in his hand are starting to sting, but Johnny ignores the pain doggedly, struggling back with uncoordinated desperation. Doesn't matter; Zagreus is already upon him, seizing his shirt and dragging him up. Johnny grabs at his arms, going limp and heavy, trying to use his own weight to pull back down and, ideally, to bring his assailant down with him. But he's too light, or Zagreus is too strong, or both; his shoes end up scrabbling uselessly at the floor as he's held upright. Muscle memory kicks in and he pulls his arm back, shoving his elbow hard into Zagreus' face, at the same time kicking him just above the ankle.

Fighting isn't going to get him out of here, as he's learned before; but it's distraction, enough for Johnny to ground himself and bend the room to his fucking will. Everything around them creaks and groans, metallic and heavy with the weight of water; the glass shivers and warps, the walls bend down around them, and the floor shifts abrupt and violent beneath Zagreus' feet. Johnny wrenches himself free and drops to his knees, planting his hands on the floor. He tears it apart with an angry yell, aiming to force his enemy back.

No one has ever elbowed Zagreus in the face, at least that he remembers, and this is something he probably would. It's painful, that's for certain, a blinding, disorienting shock, however brief. It makes the cacophony of tension all around him and the chaos under his feet that much more startling. And then he's stumbling back, not even noticing there's blood in his mouth from a cut lip, just eager to get away from Johnny's mysterious and threatening floor-rending, until he has solid enough ground beneath him to go on the offensive once more. Already his fear is falling by the wayside, there's no room for it with all this violent rage. How dare Johnny make these assaults on his Dreaming, and on him. How dare Johnny react like an enemy instead of a snack food. The natural order as he perceives it is in disarray.

He considers just twitching the floor into a rolling wave, picking Johnny up like the flotsam he is and crushing him to a paste against the far wall. It's an appealing notion, for sure, but who knows if he even can. This isn't his Dream, it may be too structured for something that drastic, and he doesn't know what power Johnny can bring to bear either. So much left to learn. He may have an affinity for warping structures, but Zagreus' affinity is with the contrary and nonlinear reality of the Dreaming itself. He bares bloodstained teeth in the familiar gleefully snarling grin, not a fear rictus but just as involuntary.

And dreams have their own logic, regardless of Johnny's powers, whatever exactly they are and however exactly they are limited. A malicious crackle of intent, easily exerted, and as far as Johnny is concerned, the air is gone. Zagreus may as well have his hands around Johnny's throat, except that would be something he could claw at, however ineffectively. No amount of panicked panting will help this, and if he cries out the words will die in his throat, nothing that could possibly summon help, not that there's any of that to summon here. Whether his sleeping body can produce enough sound or motion to call attention to his distress is another question, of course. Johnny had better hope he didn't go to sleep alone, and that if he didn't, they're a light sleeper.

"You brought this on yourself, I only wanted to talk."

Johnny knows he's right. He brings everything on himself; that's his way, how he operates, how he's always operated. Someone might set him in a certain direction, let him in the first door, but the rest is all his work.

He's not exactly in a position to reflect on this, though, choking and gasping and grabbing desperately at his throat, though there's nothing there to grip, it's just that he can't breathe, that there's nothing to breathe. His concentration breaks and the room stops twisting and bending. Now it's just him, kneeling and gasping and staring up like a helpless fucking animal. There's no one to wake him up. He just has to die quickly.

But he's not dying. He can't breathe but he's still here, suspended in the bodily pain and panic. It's not real, he realizes, the air's still there, he just can't feel it anymore. Zagreus is just playing with him.

He curls over, avoiding his wolfish stare, trying to convince himself he can breathe, the burning pressure on his lungs is all in his head, but he's not strong enough for that, he can only endure it.

Is that all there was to Johnny's short-lived burst of defiance? How disappointing. Well, Zagreus should have known better than to get his hopes up, anyway. And he's still not quite willing to kill him outright, which is to say, wake him up and send him out of his own immediate sphere of influence. Why would he?

He doesn't let up on Johnny's asphyxiation as he approaches him this time; he knows now how that will go. He hauls Johnny up for a second time, and deposits him bonelessly on the nearest stool, a little slumped against the bar but relatively stable, if he'll just exert some effort. He even sets a napkin conveniently by Johnny's still bleeding hand, mock-solicitous and smug. Only then does he release his grasp on Johnny's perceptions, incautious and abrupt, self-assured, point made. That was all in good fun. No hard feelings, right?

Johnny can barely struggle as Zagreus lifts him and replaces him on his chair, still gasping soundlessly for air, until finally he's released, and for a moment he can only sink forward, head thudding on the bar as he sucks in breath, dizzying and intense, almost blinding. He ignores the napkin, drawing his hands down into his lap and wrapping his arms around himself, huddled and shuddering. Fuck. He really thought he could fight back. Idiot.

"Don't," he gasps eventually, "don't you fucking touch me."

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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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