applesaucedream | Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

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Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

The woods are dark and deep, but not particularly lovely. If anything, they feel dangerous, as if something terrible might come lurching out from behind any given tree and tear into the nearest warm body. What that terrible thing might be is anyone's guess. A cat with hands? Slenderman? Stegosaurus? Actual cannibal Shia LaBeouf? All of the above in a horrible mob? It's anyone's guess. But every dreamer will be absolutely convinced that there is something unspeakable out there, and that it's after them.

The dreamers have two things on their side. The first is that there is actually nothing dangerous lurking in these woods (with the possible exception of other dreamers). The pervasive terror the dreamers are feeling is just that: a rift-given feeling, nothing more and nothing less. That snapping twig or rustle in the undergrowth is almost certainly just a squirrel or something else equally harmless.

The second is that no dreamer is alone. They all will be reunited with - or introduced to - their dæmons, a source of comfort in this dark, intimidating wilderness. However frightened the dreamers might be, at least they have someone with them who definitely doesn't want them dead.

[OOC: as ever, any and all are welcome! You don't have to be in the game to join the fun. Dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. And the party only stops when you want it to; feel free to backtag forever.]

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"O-oh," Johnny murmurs in surprise as Venia straight-up headbutts him, like a giant affectionate cat. So much for waiting for permission, though he supposes Venia initiating contact is permission enough. He cracks a smile and raises his hand to give her a pet, but hesitates, still sort of shy about it.

Nova, meanwhile, scrambles excitedly from Johnny's hands to bound across his arm and onto Venia's head, a fairly impressive acrobatic stunt even for a rabbit.

"We're a lot better now!" she says, nuzzling against Venia's feathers.

"Yeah," says Johnny, slightly bereft at the loss of rabbit, but smiling at her display in spite of himself. "Yeah, spooky's one word for it. I'm really not into it, whatever it is." He tugs his jacket tighter around himself, casting a look around at all the imposing trees and looming shadows. "I keep feeling like there's something staring at me out there."

Saying it makes it worse. The dread pools in his gut and he lets out a shuddering breath before, almost absent-mindedly, resting his hand on Venia's flank, needing something for comfort.

Daniel makes a sympathetic noise in response to the lacking of supplies.

"Oh, don't I know it," he sighs. "Never thought I'd say this, but what I wouldn't give to have a Beretta. Or even just a flare." That would be useful in this case. Everything feels just a few shades away from pitch-black. But the dream, aggressively unhelpful as dreams tend to be, has given him nothing but BDUs and a tac vest whose pockets apparently solely contain MREs. Daniel is not going to be eating the MREs. He will not be considering it unless things get desperate.

The mention of other beings with multiple eyes gives Daniel pause. That combined with the uniform is a fair indication that Julian might occupy the same line as work as Daniel, always a welcome thought. Then again, everything about him is totally unrecognizable, so that could just be another one of Daniel's intuitive leaps.

"I'm not gonna be much help when it comes to navigation," he warns as he follows Julian and Agamede, Aliyah bringing up the rear. "Everything about this place is just - completely different. I don't recognize any constellations or points of reference or anything." The fact that each passing minute is accompanied by the resisting pull of a nebulous something watching them does not help matters.

"Nathaira," the panther announces before Rush can interrupt. "My name is Nathaira. Don't pretend you don't know."

Rush halts to glare at her, then at Johnny.

"Souls," he begins flatly, "are purely ontological concepts that - if they exist, of which we have no empirical proof - likely exist on a plane beyond the realm of standard human perception. They do not - materialize. And they would not do so in the form of animals." He almost sounds offended at the thought. Don't be ridiculous.

"Oh, shut up." Nathaira sounds beyond exasperated at this point, directing all her frustration at the obstinate man she's been shackled to. She is tired of being ignored, particularly in favor of some tangentially related guy holding a rabbit.

They're Desire, huh? "What, like the concept?" he says, almost aggressively droll. He doesn't like the way the thing, whatever the fuck kinda animal that is (weasel? cat? fursnake?) is hovering around him, and then it touches him, pawing at him like a potential meal. He twitches back slightly.

"Hey, careful," he says, throwing a glance at the person - 'Desire', apparently. "It's weird when you touch someone else's, um, animal... thing, I think it's like a - um..."

He trails off on his awkward search for the word taboo, his mouth suddenly dry as the stranger steps closer, into a dim slant of moonlight. Oh. Well then. Speaking of lovely.

He couldn't quite ping from the voice, and seeing them doesn't actually help at all; he realizes he has no idea what gender this person is supposed to be. His initial instinct is man, but that might just be the way they're dressed - their features are so soft and gorgeous, and... is that makeup? And yellow eyes? Hard to tell in this light. He finds himself constantly tripping back and forth as he tries to decide what pronouns he should be using in his head, and eventually gives up entirely. It's not like it matters. They're fucking beautiful. Dangerous, yes, very probably, but in an incredibly sexy way. Fear is suddenly mingling potently with - well. With desire.

"I, um," he says, and swallows heavily. "J-Johnny."

Nova lets out a very soft, shy sigh, compelling him to add, "And this is Nova."

"Okay, well, I don't know what else to call them," says Johnny, starting to feel cagey around this jackass's unceasing attitude, "but they're obviously not animals. Talking aside, they know things, about us. You can feel what they feel, a little bit. It hurts to get separated. And it feels fucking weird when someone else touches them."

Or horrible. Or amazing. He doesn't add that. This is still a purely neutral interaction, no need to give this weirdo any ideas.

"So, whatever that is," he says dryly, "ontologically speaking."

"Yes, yes, laugh yourself to death," says Aziraphale bitterly. Bayan's comeback startles him, and he looks at her with an almost wounded expression.

"I wasn't trying to be rude," he protests. "I only wanted to see. Bayan, then? I do apologize. You're very lovely." A bit of flattery and a bit of truth. She is beautiful. He is not jealous, no, not him, but it's impossible not to notice nonetheless.

"Here." He holds out a hand, encouraging, a little peace offering. "If you would be so kind?"

"You know that complete lack of social convention awareness you claim you don't have?" Once again Nathaira tackles the discussion before Rush has the chance to, something which he does not appreciate. "Yeah, so I do have an awareness of how conversations are actually supposed to work. For the love of fuck, Nick, stop talking."

That halts Rush in his tracks.

"Well it is a dream, isn't it?" he asks testily, opting to ignore the panther's outburst. She used his first name. Who does that? No one does that. Not even Rush does that. "Unexplainable things happen in dreams."

Of all the simulations to get caught in it had to be the one with talking animals. This dream can't possibly be pulling from his thoughts and memories. Rush will never admit to being remotely open to the idea. Ever.

"Aziraphale!" Orisa hisses in his ear. "There's something there, can't you feel it? What've you walked us into?"

Aziraphale does feel the burning presence of something Other nearby, but he hasn't been able to separate it out from all the other presences he can feel in these woods; some of them dangerous, maybe of them powerful, who knows which ones are real? This dream is wreaking havoc with his senses.

"What would you have me do?" he hisses right back. "I can't find a way out, can't fly, can't see a bloody thing-"

"Turn back, perhapssss?" Her drawn-out sibilants have started to take on a vaguely urgent quality, he's noticed. It's making him even more nervous than he was.

"Back where? It's not as if I've a comp- oh." He stops, pulling himself up straight, as the bright blue-haired blue-eyed entity steps out into his view, trailed by some sort of creature. Oh dear.

"Er," he says weakly, as Orisa sighs and mutters, "Brilliant."

Illyria's head jerks - she senses it. Something. Coming.

This is not something she recognizes. It is bright and burning, a hard streak of divinity wrapped in human skin. Whatever world it hails from, it is not one she has walked. Its energy is abstracted, its genesis unclear. Illyria does not like it when things are unclear and undefinable; the world should unravel itself to her as it once did when she ruled it.

Its chatter is disturbingly human-like, in repulsive mimicry of the vermin its physical form takes. Her lip curls. Were it her choice, she would abandon this shell and take another, something not belonging to the small and pathetic ants who overrode her world and claimed it, ridiculously, for their own.

Illyria advances upon it, authoritative and deliberate. Pancakes watches with apprehension. She seems to have taken it upon herself to be the God-King's unbidden and unnecessary voice of caution.

She halts a fair distance from the thing with the worm draped around it, tilts her head to one side in detached inquisition.

"Explain your nature," she orders. It is a living thing and it will bend before her, as all living things must and do.

The vessel that Lucifer inhabits still has its soul, still has its consciousness; Nick sleeps peacefully, unaware, his reward for the offering of his flesh. Lucifer does not have to destroy the soul to take the body like an animal, like a ravenous, mindless beast.

"And do you think that you're the only one who can move between universes, orphaned god-king?"

Contrary to her increasing anger, Lucifer stands glacially calm and immovable, like he is made of marble instead of flesh and blood. If he is bothered by her outbursts and increasing aggression, he makes no outward appearance of it; let her have her snits. Let her make her threats. Words are nothing more than words.

He cocks his head at her, acknowledgement of what she claims she can do.

"Try it, and I will unmake you."

"I don't know what a Beretta is, but I'm betting I wish you had one as well," Julian agrees. He looks up at the stars again and gives a short laugh. "Oh! Well good, maybe it isn't bad memory then afterall! I'm not sure if that is more or less comforting!" Julian is nervous, still scared, but his chatter almost seems a habit of feeling more at ease now that he isn't alone in this strange situation, rather than nervous chatter.

Julian straightens, rubs his hands vigorously over his arms, though even he is unsure if its to block out a chill or simply to get his blood moving. He is tired, which seems like a strange thing to feel in a dream, because surely somewhere his real body is sleeping, safe and warm in his quarters, possibly even with a companion nearby.Intellectually he knows that he can't be hurt in a dream, but the fear certainly feels as real as any fear he's experienced in his wakened life. "Maybe in the future I will research exactly the best way to wake oneself up from dreams. Not exactly the kind of research I get paid for, but if this is going to be a recurring thing..."

A breeze gusts up above them, sending trees bending, the leaves swirling, and Julian finds his fear, that stupid unexplainable unnecessary fear returning to the deepest parts of his bones. "Alright," he says, determined. "Good. We can be useless navigators together. Hopefully we will *not* be needing my medical skills at all, so I'm somewhat useless anyhow, but I was thinking high-ground. The trees seem thicker up along that ridge, and I don't like the idea of being exposed, or being caught or eaten or whatever it is that will happen if we are... caught." He gives Daniel a smile, somewhere between terror and excitement. "Ready?" Not sure ready for what, but ready.

Edited 2014-11-01 14:05 (UTC)

Definitely not military. Or not the in the way Daniel understands the word. Berettas are fairly standard-issue; whoever Julian is, he must not come from a universe where this is the case. He makes a silent note of it. Julian's plan sounds as good as any, however, so Daniel nods and sets off uphill. Aliyah bounds up ahead a few paces at a time, unwilling to stray much farther than even a couple feet.

"It is a group dream," he clarifies as they make the transition to higher ground. "There's um, a Rift. Of sorts. I don't know the scientific specifics, I just - I got pulled out of my world into a new one not that long ago and, well. If something weird happens it's usually the Rift's fault." That's seemed to be the case so far. It disallows blaming of any other dreamers involved, so Daniel will take it. "There are ways to wake yourself up, it's just that, uh. Well, they're less than pleasant. And usually involve dying."

Or watching your friends die. Or something equally horrible required to jar the brain back into reality. Daniel doesn't mind the death. It's something he's just gotten to accept, more or less, in his line of work. He does mind the associated pain of him or someone else having to suffer for it.

"I will enjoy watching you try, creature."

Okay, says Pancakes, more than a little frenetic at this point, I am intervening, mistress. This is an intervention. That is the DEVIL.

"My shell cannot be unmade," she says it without inflection. It is a constant of the universe, immutable. Just as she is. Her being has been carved into the universe for longer than any vermin can remember. "And nor can I."

Your shell can still be HURT. And I can feel that TOO, Pancakes cries with ever-increasing desperation.

Aziraphale has no idea what sort of being this is, but her commanding posture and tone are enough to ensure him he does not want to antagonize her. He's distantly aware of Orisa curling a little closer around him, and for the first time since meeting her, he's glad of her presence.

"I am an - a principality," he blurts. Specificity seems required. "An angel of Heaven in my, er, my universe. My name is Aziraphale."

Orisa unloops her head and creeps down from his shoulder to get a better look at the creature on the ground, flicking her tongue curiously. It makes Aziraphale tense, how openly she explores when they should obviously be deferring right now. Wasn't it she who wanted to avoid confrontation a moment ago?

He stands his ground, struggling not to fidget. "Who are you?" he asks meekly.

"These aren't like regular dreams," says Johnny stubbornly. "There's logic to them, or whatever. Other forces at work."

"It's the same for everyone," Nova pipes up. "We come out for these dreams; otherwise Nathaira and I would still be in you. Intangible."

Johnny looks at his rabbit in surprise. The first time they met she didn't seem to have much of a better idea what she was than he did; most of his understanding came from conversation with Gabe after the fact. Now she seems to have a handle on the methodology of it. Is his animal soul smarter than him?

She nudges him, as if to say oh, stop that.

"Illyria."

The title should be enough to assert her obvious dominance. If this thing is what it claims to be then it will be older than its vermin shell implies, and it will remember her. It must. She is a God-King eternal, and this thing is but one infinitesimal smear of celestial energy.

"I have not encountered angels in many ages," she muses aloud, now stalking to the thing's left, eyes wandering impassively over the worm hissing at her. She has encountered an Angel - not the same thing. A half-breed. A demon. This is something else.

"You are smaller." She can see the divine energy, the shadows of wings and all of it wrapped into a vermin-shaped bundle, but this is...a disappointment. Illyria knows of the many-winged seraphs, Heaven's soldiers, with their flaming swords and many thousands of eyes. This thing lives in the shape of a human, a mere ant, for no reason she can discern.

"Oh, that's just perfect," grumbles Rush, voice heavy with disgust. "And how does one get out of these dreams? Assuming one can."

The fact that he's getting an informative lecture from a rabbit just makes the whole thing all the more intolerable. Johnny is still proving useful, information-wise. He will cast his lot with him for the time being until the risk outweighs the reward. Or until he gets too annoyed. Whichever comes first.

"Can't get rid of me that easy, love," Nathaira growls. "I'm a part of you, remember? Probably the part you like to pretend doesn't exist. The part that can actually fathom to be nice every once in a while."

Aziraphale hesitates at the introduction. Is she intimating that she is Illyria itself - some sort of ultra powerful genius loci, perhaps, to use the assumption the boy with the demon in his back had made of him? He allows himself to be distracted, momentarily, by her disdainful assessment of his size.

"I am far greater outside this body," he assures her. "The corporeal form is necessary to, you know, exist on Earth. I've had many different bodies over the millenia." He glances uncertainly at her as she stalks around him. "The last time I was in Illyria I wouldn't have looked anything like this." He tries to remember the body he'd had then. It hadn't really been his domain. Was he still a Sumerian? Crowley - was that when Crowley was inhabiting a female form? He moves cautiously away from that line of thought.

"Are you - well, what are you? I don't quite understand," he admits.

She grows very, very still at the question. This thing does not know her. This thing does not understand her.

She finds the very notion offensive. How can her glory not have been glimpsed across the many thousands of planes and multiversal ridges?

"You do not know me." Her eyes blaze coldly at the revelation. Illyria closes the distance between them until she is mere inches from the shimmering principality-thing, her shell's chin lifted, skewering it with a glare of supreme authority.

"I am the God-King," she says, voice level and without inflection, for she is so far above this creature that it does not deserve her true attention. "I am the Merciless, the ruler of the Primordium. You are beneath me."

Well THAT doesn't sound good. None of it means anything to him, enough that her comments manage not to spark his troublesome angelic pride, but he regards her with increased caution all the same.

"Oh," he says politely. "I see. Er, sorry. I don't think we have you in my universe."

Orisa is definitely alarmed now, the overpowering dread of these woods getting to her, and she coils around him tighter, hissing nervously in his ear. He reaches up instinctively to get her a comforting pat.

"I am eternal," the God-King growls. "I ruled worlds when they were unformed, I crushed legions beneath one heel. I am absolute. And you," she laces a special, darkened venom into the word, this thing having enraged her enough to warrant some more concentrated attention, "claim you do not know me."

They are afraid, Pancakes notes quietly.

Illyria knows this. As well they should be.

"I - er-" Aziraphale lifts his hands in bewildered alarm. What is he doing wrong here? He finally gives ground, taking a nervous step back, right into a tree. Of bloody course.

"But it's a different universe," he explains very patiently, doing his level best not to sound nervous. "Things work differently, we don't have any - any God-Kings, or Primordium, or any of that."

Orisa slithers around him and onto the tree, hissing all the way. It takes Aziraphale only a moment to realize it's not cowardice, but practicality; she's removing herself from reach in case something should happen. And she's scouting for routes of escape or potential allies. Aziraphale feels an unusual burst of warmth for the python. Good for her.

Illyria cocks her head. If confusion were an emotion on her spectrum (she lacks such a thing, it is human, unnecessary), it would be what she conveys now. But it is not. The thought that one such as this principality could not even be aware of her existence is unimaginable, blasphemous. God-Kings cannot simply be ignored, no matter what universe they choose to reside in.

"You are mistaken." She grinds the words out slowly, a warning. "In my times of glory I would traverse the many dimensions with ease, conquer the hundreds and thousands that would defy me and crush them all."

The next words are ironclad, radiating with her restrained wrath, deceptively quiet.

"Would you also choose to defy me?"

"Aha," says Aziraphale, nodding slowly. Now he's in a difficult position. Admitting his very likely defiance would obviously be the wrong move. But he doesn't much like the idea of letting this arrogant creature wander off thinking she has every right to 'crush' whoever gets in her path. That would not be the angelic thing to do.

Aziraphale didn't used to be so doggedly, properly angelic. It's only recently he's started actually doing his job, and without any real employers to boot. Coming face to heel with Satan has that affect on you, evidently.

"I suppose it depends on the nature of your conquering," he says a bit thinly.

He can practically hear Orisa groaning up in the tree.

She takes two precise steps away, a very deliberate preparation for what may need to happen to teach this creature its place.

"It is beyond conquest," Illyria murmurs, a reminder to herself as well as the thing she addresses. Diminished she might be, smaller and reduced in power, but still she is God-King triumphant. Still and always she will be of superior being. "It is my right. This plane and all others I walk upon, they are mine. And I will teach my subjects obedience."

Pancakes hisses, catlike, in preparation for her mistress' will. If this principality will not submit, she will make it.

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Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

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mild binary-centric cw (johnny is from the 90s and doesn't yet get the concept of gender fluidity)

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