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

[applesaucemod]

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.]

Comments

[jane_eyre]

These are not the woods at Thornfield. These are no woods Jane remembers. She is alone, and afraid, and without a cloak to guard her against the cool, bitter mists. She wraps her arms around herself and stands stiff and straight, staring into the pale dark. Where is she?

Something else is here with her, she realizes, very near, just behind her. Her breath shudders to a halt, then slips out between her lips, a haze disappearing quickly into the air.

"Jane," the voice rumbles out slowly, giving her a start. She presses a hand to her breast but does not turn. There is something ethereal, unhuman about it, low to the ground, deeper and greater than the voice of a man. And yet, she is not quite afraid, at least not of the speaker. Once she's over the initial fright, it's rather a relief to have someone at her side.

"Who's there?" she murmurs.

"My name is Adeodatus," he says. "I believe we were meant to meet."

Something presses into the palm of her hand, the one hanging at her side; cold and wet, like the nose of a dog, surrounded by a matching muzzle of thick hair. She tenses but does not flinch away. The creature is not here to harm her; in fact, touching him feels quite safe.

At last, Jane turns around to face him.

Adeodatus is a beast, as she had suspected, though not a dog, but a bear, medium-sized, coming up just to her hip when on all fours, his fur so deep a brown it is almost black.

She knows she should be afraid to see him so close, but still, she is not. It is everything else in this foreign wood that frightens her; not Adeodatus. He is her companion; she is almost willing to say a part of her soul.

"Adeodatus," she says softly, crouching down to put her arms around his head. "I'm so very glad to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," he says. "Only I think we had better keep moving. This forest is not safe." He presses his snout against her shoulder. "You must get on my back. I will be able to carry you faster. Hurry, dear Jane."

Quiet and grateful, Jane nods and pulls herself up to the bear's back, sitting behind his jagged shoulder blades. She grips his fur in little fistfuls as he takes her swiftly through the woods.

[prudence_and_honour]

There are woods in the country around Delaford and Barton Cottage, but they are, Elinor is quite sure, no woods like these. Not, of course, that she has ever walked out this late before, but she feels confident in thinking that she would recognise those familiar woods even at this late hour. These woods are-- it feels absurd to think it even to herself, but they are like something out of one of Marianne's fancies. She is quite sure that were her sister here, she would at once proclaim the forest to be full of wicked sprites, or perhaps the spirits of the unquiet dead waiting to draw down the soul of any hapless nighttime walker.

But as Elinor does not believe in any such nonsense, there is nothing to be afraid of. Merely trees, and the dark; shadows may frighten a child's mind, but they are merely shadows. She has never heard tell of brigands or vagrants in this country, so she need merely find her way out of the wood, and that will be that.

To her great consternation, however, no amount of stern justification does anything to quell the flutter of irrational anxiety in her belly. Still, she thinks firmly to herself, at least she is properly attired. Her woollen pelisse and a plain shawl ensure that, if nothing else, she will not catch a chill.

'Still,' says a sudden and unexpected voice at her ear, 'we had best start moving, do you not think?'

Elinor only barely stifles a scream, so shocked is she, clapping a hand to her mouth, the other wrapping around her belly as she looks about herself. There is no sign of any person, much less one so near, and she lets out a shuddering breath that she can see in the moonlight.

'Who is there? It is most unseemly to play such tricks, and I will not have it.'

Her voice, she thinks, is admirably firm, but she jolts horribly when the first voice speaks again, so near she can all but feel it on her skin. 'Your pardon, Elinor. I am here, on your shoulder. Pray, do not startle.' She registers for the first time a faint weight there, and then a prickle, felt only barely through layers of fabric. Swallowing, she reaches up with both hands to find... what? Living flesh, certainly, but dry and pebbled beneath her fingertips. A lizard, she discovers, as she lifts it down, and she stares at it in frank astonishment.

'This--' she swallows, and shakes her head. 'This cannot be. I am-- dreaming.'

'Perhaps,' says the lizard, 'And I do not deny that it is... most peculiar. I am not accustomed to being... outside you.'

'Outside?' Elinor echoes, and the lizard shakes its-- no, his, she is quite certain it is a male-- head, blinking slowly at her.

'I believe,' he says, in measured, educated tones, 'I am what you might refer to as your... soul.' Although even as he says as much, it is as if he cannot quite believe it himself. Elinor, who has of course always believed in the immortal soul of man, certainly never imagined it in the form of a peculiar, brightly-coloured lizard.

'I see,' she says, though she does not, and the lizard-- smiles. She did not know such as he were even capable of the expression, but smile he does.

'You may call me Caractacus-- beware!'

Elinor looks about for what Caractacus may be warning her of, but despite the caution, she is entirely unprepared for the sight of a young lady in a most peculiar dress, her red hair aglow in the moonlight, riding a bear. This time she does not shriek, but she does stumble backwards, clutching Caractacus to her breast and staring, wide-eyed.

'I-- I beg your pardon,' she manages after a moment.

[jane_eyre]

"There is someone near," murmurs Adeodatus after a long, silent journey.

"Friend or foe?" wonders Jane.

"I know not." The bear lifts his head and sniffs the air. "She smells human. I believe there is no danger. If there is, I shall protect you."

Jane reaches out and strokes his great head in silent thanks.

They draw near, and the woman turns and starts to see them, for which Jane certainly cannot blame her. She is relieved to see she is dressed like a proper lady, though a bit out of fashion. She too has a creature with her, though much smaller than Adeodatus. A reptile of some kind, barely visible in the dark.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, dear lady," says Jane softly. "My name is Jane Eyre; this is Adeodatus - no ordinary bear, I can assure you. He will not harm you. Are you well? May we offer any assistance?"

[prudence_and_honour]

Elinor's heart is pounding a tattoo in her breast, though she forcibly calms her breathing until she hopes she at least gives the outward appearance of calm, for all her wide eyes and the faint trembling of her fingertips. This entire situation is so far outside the realm of her experience that she finds herself quite at a loss for how to respond.

The lady, at least, seems well-mannered, for all her accent is an uncouth one. Still, though the sound is rough to her ears, it is Elinor's limited experience that all people from the North speak thus, whether they are gentlefolk or the working classes.

'Miss Eyre.' She grasps at etiquette rather desperately, inclining her head and giving a faint bob of a curtsy, as though they were being introduced by some mutual acquaintance at a ball. 'I am Miss Dashwood, and my companion is Caractacus.'

The lizard remains where he is, tail wound about her wrist and claws dug into the breast of her pelisse. Somehow they both have the vague notion that it would be improper for him to speak, at least to a stranger, and so he remains silent, although his small, bright eyes take in the girl and her bear with wary curiosity.

'I... am not unwell,' Elinor says, 'but I am afraid we are quite lost. Do you know these woods?'

[jane_eyre]

"Miss Dashwood," says Jane, nodding her head in return. She suffers a bit of trepidation - Miss Dashwood is a lady, not like any she knew in her life, and she fears she shall herself appear coarse and strange, her hair starting to come undone, her accent and her plain clothes - and of course her unorthodox mount. In a fit of courtesy, she wonders if she ought to introduce herself to the companion as well, and after a brief weighing of options decides one had best be thorough. Inclining her head again to the reptile, she murmurs, "Caractacus."

Miss Dashwood, fine and - perhaps delicate, as she is, nevertheless provides more familiar ground, however, and Jane quickly refixes her focus on the young lady. "I am afraid that I know as little of these woods as you," she says, "and I must further confess that I have no recollection of coming here, nor of anything clearly before that. I had begun to wonder if I were under some sort of spell, though I don't know if I could have dreamed up a lady such as yourself."

Beneath her, she feels a slight trembling run through Adeodatus; he is uneasy here, restless, desiring to move on, continue to escape whatever dangers lie in these woods. But Jane cannot abandon a fellow waylaid traveler. She runs a hand slowly through his thick fur, soothing as best she can.

general warning for 18th century racism

[prudence_and_honour]

Perhaps it is the nod that casts the light of the moon across Miss Eyre's face; where before Elinor had been able to see little other than her wild hair, her features are now revealed to her. The woman is mulatto, though clearly of much diluted blood; for though her features are plainly Afric, her skin seems scarcely darker than Elinor's own. One rarely sees coloured people in country society, but it is not as though Elinor has never met any before; in London, her late father had connections with a businessman of some repute whose skin was far darker than this Miss Eyre's.

So whilst she is surprised, she keeps her expression as still as she can, beyond a slight lifting of her eyebrows. Poor and dependent on the generosity of their half-brother, Elinor knows what it is to be scorned for circumstances beyond one's control, and does not wish to cause Miss Eyre any discomfort.

'They are most strange,' she agrees. And then, after a faintly trembling pause, continues, 'I should ordinarily refrain from saying such to one with whom I am but newly acquainted, Miss Eyre, and I am... not normally given to such fancies, but I confess that I cannot dismiss the conviction that we are being... observed.'

She holds Caractacus a little tighter to her breast, and does not look about her. Despite the best assurances of her reason, there is something about this forest that unnerves the very heart of her. It is not that she believes in pixies or evil spirits or any such fantasy, and yet she cannot persuade herself that something is not deeply wrong.

[jane_eyre]

"I too suffer this conviction," Jane says solemnly. "I am grateful to you for giving it voice, Miss Dashwood, for I should not have been so bold. I have not seen or heard any living creature apart from you or Adeodatus, and yet..." She does look about her, a gaze to take in her surroundings, which provide no immediate answers.

"Do you suppose it could merely be fancy, when we have independently come to this conviction?" she wonders, not wholly intending to sound philosophical.