Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

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!]

Comments

[antitimelord]

Well here's something he hasn't seen or felt before. Something familiar in a way he can't put a finger on, but isn't that always the way? Maybe that's the point, maybe this is a person the way pitcher plants are plants. How novel, why can't the Dreaming offer him things like that more often? Or Manhattan at large, for that matter, he afterthinks.

This whoever they are looks pleased enough to be here, which is reason enough to speak up; he's found he has an affinity for this dark city too. "Can't remember the last time someone Dreamed something better than I could myself. Though they could have made the library easier to find," he says by way of greeting, almost friendly behind the cattiness. Gleam of open curiosity, shining through the usual wariness and disdainful apathy.

[endless_epithumia]

Desire is sitting on a chaise by a viewing window of sorts, staring out at the vast crushing ocean, the very picture of unguarded idleness. They know someone's watching, someone very peculiar. Best wait to see what he does, see what entertainment they can glean from him.

They smirk at his opening salvo; they can tell he's a feisty one underneath that exterior of determined unpleasantness. They reach out and play with a potted fern, their fingers gently twisting the leaves off.

"Hmm, it does seem to be rather...labyrinthine, perhaps that's the point." They turn to get a proper look at him, this...whatever he is, and their eyes light up. In an instant Desire is off the couch and standing in front of him and peering. They just barely refrain from touching him, which, speaking of cattiness, smacks of 'this person is new and I do not know them but I am also 80% sure they can give me food.'

"What are you?" they coo, standoffish attitude forgotten. Desire is fickle, always. "Do I know you? I would remember if I made you, I wonder if it was one of my siblings? Did they make you for me?" If so, Desire is going to have to send someone a thank-you gift.

[antitimelord]

Oh, hell. Before he can even register the casual floral cruelty for the alarm bell it is it's too late, this, this person is happening, inappropriately closely and familiarly and weirdly impersonally? He feels uncomfortably like Goldilocks in this dream, first he's too much person, now he's being treated like an unlabeled Christmas present, how did everything go so awry this time. Beings, acting like they want something from him, like he's being used for some weird nourishment, get out. He frowns thunderously, wonders if it's too late to spin on his heel and avaunt, foul shade, etc. But that would hardly give the right impression, would it, and he remains stubbornly curious.

"I certainly was not made for anyone," which is a lie of course, he'd rarely be so indignant if it weren't, but if this creature's Rassilon then he's a unicorn, and it's important to set the record straight early on. The rest of it he ignores, naturally. He can't help an uneasy not quite step back, a disquiet orientation anywhere but forward yet not wanting to give any ground. "Why? Do you have so many enemies that you think someone would make me in response?" He preens deliberately under the scrutiny, a natural antidote to discomfort. Set all the records straight, before things get out of hand.

[endless_epithumia]

What a touchy little creation he is, all fluffed up like a grumpy bird. It's absolutely delightful. And now that they've had a closer look, Desire can tell some of what he's about, such a jumble of ideas. And it would be so pleasurable to tease him apart, like a great sentient tangle of string.

"Mmm," Desire pays little attention to his protestation, though it is an interesting window into his character. "So you have some autonomy, a tool that thinks. But you're no golem, you're all..." They wave a hand about his face and hair, trying to express the vagueness of the raw materials they sense in him. "It's more luminous than clay, but what, are you lots of little pieces all folded up and pressed together?" Desire is being about as rude as asking how much he weighs, but with so many levels of meaning he must be quite dense, and anyway how are they supposed to discern anything without poking at him?

[antitimelord]

Some autonomy? Tool? How dare this creature be so wrong about everything. And how dare there be any poking, physical, mental, metaphorical, whatever. Peevishly he bats at the offending hand, sidesteps a bit, having had enough of this egregious treatment without wanting to back down and only barely resisting the urge to circle. "I'm not any of those things, what nonsense. And who exactly are you? You don't feel like much of a person yourself." While we're going there. He isn't really certain what he's confronting, but he knows he doesn't appreciate their behaviour and intrusiveness. "Look, I appreciate vaguely poetic sounding gibberish as much as the next and more than most, but tone it down, why don't you."

[endless_epithumia]

But why would they want to tone it down when it's clearly so easy to get under his skin? Mmm, skin. Desire counters his sidestep with a fluid shifting toward him--oh look we're dancing!--and grins at him, golden eyes flashing.

"Look at you, all buttoned up tight in your agitation like a nice little cloak, do you just not like to play when you're not the one making up the rules?" They bite their lip and reach out, stroking his cheek lightly with the back of a curled hand. "Go on, be a good sport."

[antitimelord]

Always with the TOUCHING. Why, what mistake did he make in his questionable existence, that this should continue to happen? Firmly he catches the lunatic's hand and lowers it, like they're a child touching fragile things in a store, it's not even done unkindly, though that's more a function of bemusement than anything. "I never make up rules. Look, perhaps we can trade. You seem like a being that can probably appreciate that. Tell me who you are and I'll tell you--whatever it is that you're asking." The strain of being reasonable shouldn't be this familiar. He has a feeling it won't be any more effective than usual.