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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"Would you stop that?" Nicholas Rush snaps for the umpteenth time at the disturbingly silent thing following him. Black cat. Word for it. Panther. Whatever. He doesn't care.

"I'm supposed to follow you," she explains impatiently. "That's how it works."

"How what works. That doesn't follow." He answers with only half an ear; the rest of him is worried about the secondary, more ambiguous thing following him. The thing he has yet to see. Rush doesn't care for that; the unknown thing is purely conceptual in nature thus far, which is ordinarily his strong suit with the notable exception of cases such as these in which it is most deliberately stalking him to evoke a sense of fear and it is working. How is it fucking working.

"I'm Nathaira," continues the panther, just as ill at ease but doing a much better job at not making it obvious.

"I don't care."

"You should. I'm you."

"That's an erroneous assumption. And also makes no sense from a teleological perspective so why would - fuck!" Rush swears explosively as his foot catches on a root, of course it does, and sends him crashing groundward in a spectacular faceplant. Snarling with frustration at the sheer indignation of it, he promptly lets out a stream of obscenities that grow increasingly creative in structure and nature, as only a Glaswegian can.

Amazing. Fucking. Brilliant.

Johnny stares, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as the incoherent, apoplectic Scotsman faceplants on the ground right in front of him, trailed by a nearly invisible fucking panther. Hopefully this guy's soul thing, not like, a real panther. The hungry kid.

"Um," he says, breaking the spell of silent stillness that has fallen over him and his rabbit. "You okay there?"

"Do I fucking look it?"

He springs to his feet with admirable dexterity, no thanks to the Na-panther-thing that seems to have insisted following him despite his best efforts. Everything is still dark. Ugh.

Rush's pure reflexive answer appears to have fallen on a...a someone. He doesn't recognize him. He doesn't care. He's holding a rabbit. Why would anyone -

No. No. No, Rush does not have time to process this right now.

"Who're you?" he demands, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You don't know where we are. You wouldn't. Why would you?"

With a soft snort he turns back to face the - his panther. He supposes she's his, she won't stop trailing after him like some lost fucking puppy. And perhaps what he's just said makes no external sense. That doesn't matter much either. He just wants to get out and away from this place, preferably panther-free.

Johnny raises one of his hands as placatingly as he can - he would raise both, but one of them is still occupied holding Nova. "All right, all right," he says warily. "Just asking."

He pushes his hand through his hair and lowers it back to his rabbit. He feels really nervous and antsy just staying here, but he's not gonna run, that's like asking for panther and possibly-crazy-guy to chase you.

"My name's Johnny," he says slowly, "and this is a group dream. It's a thing. You're new, aren't you?"

He's starting to be able to tell. Maybe that should worry him.

"What." He swings back to glower at Johnny in boiling accusation, as if this situation is his personal fault and he should be deeply ashamed and/or apologetic. And possibly working to fix it. No, scratch that. Rush will be doing that. Ideally alone and without his panther.

"What did you say this was?" Oh no. No, no, no. No. No, Rush does not want anymore fucking simulations. The level of sheer blinding outrage rockets up with each word. "Group dreams? Group simulations? Simulations in which groups are involved? Involving multiple people? Contemporaneously?"

Rush rubs vigorously at his temple in despair. He prefers neither groups nor dreams. The combination simply makes this a doubly toxic event.

"That's repetitious. And redundant," Nathaira chimes in helpfully.

"You're hilarious," he retorts, then redirects his attention to the person. Johnny. This person. "Dr. Rush," he says by way of brusque greeting, which for Rush is about as warm and cuddly as he's liable to get anytime soon.

"Holy shit calm down," says Johnny somewhat desperately and in a single breath. "Look, just trust me, okay? I've been through this before." He considers trying to argue the semantics of dream vs. simulation, but what's the point? Simulation is almost more accurate. Anyway this guy's apparently a doctor, so he's liable to be insufferable about it.

Nova's pressing her face against his neck, practically radiating a desire to get away from the loud angry stranger, but Johnny's not in favor of running away just yet. He keeps his hand pressed to her, trying to calm her down, and, by natural extension, himself.

"Quiet down, okay?" he hisses. "We don't know what's out there."

He regards Johnny with suspicion but the initial flare of frustration has all but faded, leaving both him and Nathaira once again on edge. Johnny looks nothing like a scientist or a soldier, not that an opinion from either school of thought would be valued, but he looks calmer, vaguely. Except for the rabbit thing. Rush still doesn't understand the rabbit thing. Nor the panther thing, but he will prioritize and deconstruct each problem in sequential order and not all at once. Right now rabbit takes priority. More specifically, the one holding it.

"You do know where we are, then?" Rush asks in edged whisper. "Or just - information. You have that."

"Yeah, sort of." Johnny relaxes a little, relieved Rush is calming down marginally. "I mean, there's no where, it really is just a dream. In the woods, wherever. I don't know where your body is, man."

He's starting to get really nervous. Something's gonna find them, and it's gonna find them soon.

"Look, I'm not gonna wait around and see what's out there. You coming or not?"

"In stasis," Rush answers shortly, because it's true last he checked. Much to his general annoyance.

Immediately after Johnny makes the suggestion he pivots, glances sharply to the left and back of him, picks a direction at random, and embarks. He assumes Nathaira's following, not that he cares one way or the other.

"We'd best get a fucking move on, then."

"No argument here," says Johnny in mild bewilderment, tromping after him, giving his panther a wide berth. Stasis is more than a little alarming, but it's not the weirdest thing he's heard, so he shrugs it off.

He glances over at the panther, shifting Nova down to the crook of his elbow. "Does, uh, does she have a name or anything?"

"No idea," he says airily.

"Yes you do," hisses Nathaira, plainly disgruntled.

"N-something." He waves an unconcerned hand in her vague direction as he tramps purposefully onward. Not n-squared, to his consternation. The solution here is buried in any number of diverting pathways, all ambiguous and all irritatingly out of reach. "Unimportant. I'm prioritizing."

Yes. Priorities. Yes. Priority A - get out of the woods. The dream woods, the metaphysical representation of his mental state, something conceptual Rush is uninterested in defining. Priority B - find a way to abandon the panther in the process if at all possible. Priority C - wake up properly and get on with his infinitely more interesting real life.

Slight addendum: Priority A, subsection a - determine the nature of "Johnny" and whether he will be at all useful in accomplishing priorities A through C.

Further addendum: Priority A, subsection b - if the aforementioned is not the case, abandon him.

Edited 2014-11-01 01:45 (UTC)

"It's not unimportant," Johnny counters, only faintly appalled. "She's part of you. Like... your soul, or something. I've met mine before, in another dream." A much better one, he thinks bitterly.

"Mine begins with an N too," volunteers Nova, more to the panther than to Rush. "It's Novatiana. Nova for short."

"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.

"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."

"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.

"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.

"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."

"One wakes up," says Johnny, barely imagining to roll his eyes. Duh. He likes the panther a lot more than the man, he decides.

"You wake up either naturally, or by dying in the dream," he adds. "And trust me. Speaking as a fucking connoisseur of dream death. You don't want to get out that way."

"Yeah, what part of 'in stasis' in unclear to you, exactly?" Rush fires back, prickling frustration escalating more and more with each passing second. "Or are you unfamiliar with the term? Waking up naturally is not an option. Not until I am pulled out of stasis."

And Rush is tired of awful simulations. He is so incredibly tired of them. Simulations in which he dies, simulations in which everyone he knows (and certainly doesn't love or care for, not even remotely, he is adamant about this) dies, simulations in which he is trailed by talking animals and men holding rabbits and things. Stasis has meant an infinite loop of simulations. This one may be a deviation from the norm, but it does not make it any less tiring.

Oh. Right. Johnny chews his lip, feeling marginally guilty for inadvertently being a dick. "Uh," he says, "then I dunno. But these dreams have to end somehow. They don't go on forever."

A few twig snap loudly just nearby, causing him to jerk sharply and stare into the shadows, Nova trembling in his arms. Well, one upshot to being stuck with Rush is that he has a friggin panther for a soul.

That is the first remotely useful thing Rush has heard all day. The sound of an approaching something cuts him off before he can enumerate as such. He gyrates in a full one-hundred-eighty-degrees, takes two steps to back away and immediately hooks his heel over yet another fucking root that sends him fucking sprawling. He crabs backwards frantically even as Nathaira plants herself in front of him - going in line with the absurd animal-soul metaphor, she must be a manifestation of the part of him that has no fucking common sense - but soon finds himself backed up to a tree trunk, pressed up against it, the disconcerting stability of the allegedly nonphysical trunk doing nothing for his jangling nerves.

"What's there?" he hisses, the horrible needling sensation of being watched now peaking. He is not panicking. He is rational and calm and prioritizing. He is not going to fucking panic. Especially not in a dream.

Johnny curses under his breath and inches back behind Nathaira, his tension only heightened by Rush's fall and subsequent scramble backwards. "I don't know," he hisses back. "But this place is bad fucking news. We gotta get outta here. Come on." He offers Rush his arm, keeping his eyes forward, darting from panther to the woods. A few more twigs snap around them, followed by unfocused rustling. He can't quite tell where it's coming from.

"Johnny," whispers Nova fearfully.

"I know, I know." Johnny grabs Rush's arm and pulls to hoist him up. "How do you feel about running like hell?"

The suggestion to leave sounds like a really fucking excellent one, right up until the point that Johnny grabs him -

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he snarls, snapping out of the other man's grip so viciously he nearly topples over again.

No. No, he is not panicking. He is not. He is not panicking. The place is dark and blurry, that is fine and it has always been, his breathing is a perfectly acceptable rate, his heart is going at exactly the right amount of beats per minute that a heart should be going at given a fair amount of adrenaline, he is not shaking, not even slightly. He is not trying to shrug off the awful, clinging sensation of fingers wrapping around his arm, fuck he is fine, fine, he is fine, he is fine, he is fine.

Nathaira pushes her head beneath Rush's hand, forcing his fingers to stroke at the rough fur there. He almost reflexively lashes out at her too for initiating physical contact, but the feeling is - comforting, weirdly. He won't question that. He needs to get a handle on his breathing. He needs to get a handle on this. He can do that. He is not panicking.

"Go," Nathaira whispers. "We have to go."

Yes, they do. They have to go. They have to - fuck, he is shaking.

He is not panicking.

"Whoa!" Johnny lifts his hand away at once, stepping back. "Jesus! Fuck, sorry, I was just trying to help!"

Nova pushes her nose against his cheek, chiding him silently - look, he's afraid. Be gentle. You know how to be gentle, don't you?

Johnny feels a pang of irritation - what the hell business does he have having a rabbit soul, when he's such a prickly fucking asshole? He brushes it all aside in a hurry when another, louder snap resounds just to his left.

"Look, I'm sorry," he says again, through his teeth. "Let's just - let's go. All right? You okay?"

He starts inching forward, resisting the urge to reach out and make another grab to hurry Rush along.

"I am perfectly fucking fine."

He is perfectly fucking fine. He is not breathing too hard. His heartrate is acceptable. Everything is acceptable.

He is not panicking.

The sound of twigs crackling somewhere very close by serves as an adequate impetus. Nathaira nudges him, none too gently, and the brusque action is familiar enough to spur him onward. His breathing is normal for someone about to embark on a late night run for his life through unrecognizable woods, pursued by a creature of unknown origin. His heartrate is acceptable. He is not panicking.

He doesn't check to ensure Johnny is keeping pace as he tears off, unidirectional but with marked navigational ineptitude as he also does not check to see where he is going, only that he is moving.

Rush is small but the panic - the lack thereof, he is not panicking, he is not panicking - the adrenaline is increasing his rate of movement considerably. He will exert horizontal force x and vertical force y in the forward motion of running, he will exercise his knowledge of gravitational pull, he will propel himself forward parabolically, he will breathe and he will be fine, because he is not panicking.

Nathaira is beside him, streamlined and efficient, and he is running and breathing and not panicking. Rush prefers not panicking. A round of metaphorical applause for a reasonably balanced mental state.

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tw: minor panic-related things

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