applesaucedream | 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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"Yes, they are," says Aziraphale with some effort, swallowing thickly, "strange."

Orisa circles loosely around his neck, lifting her head to peer at the dragon, but she says nothing. Aziraphale can feel her tension, as well as her hatred, and is struck by how very strange it actually is, to have a piece of him in another simultaneously existing being. She truly is a part of him, or - the same as him, somehow. It's too complicated to think about it when he's being stared at by the Devil.

"Do I," he says in an extremely unconvincing attempt at nonchalance. "Well, perhaps it's - something in the dream. I've heard they can... alter our moods, sometimes."

It must be something like that - he shouldn't be so afraid of Lucifer, not now, with their agreement. There's a part of him wondering, unable not to wonder, if the agreement doesn't stretch to a dream, if Lucifer might find little loopholes just to toy with him. Orisa flicks the tip of her tail lightly against his arm, perhaps comforting, perhaps scolding. He doesn't risk taking his eyes from Lucifer to look at her.

"If we can be dragged into a dream at all, I wouldn't be surprised that it can affect us in other ways."

Technically, knowing that they are being affected by something unrelated to their current circumstances does not in any way lessen the effect, but there is certainly a difference in the way people respond to it. When confronted with this kind of stressor, Aziraphale is tense, skittish; a prey reaction. Lucifer's reaction to these woods are dangerous is to say of course it is, I'm in it and go visit violence on anything that would challenge him. Maybe not the healthiest way to deal with it, but certainly the reaction of someone who's used to being the biggest fish in his metaphorical pond.

"Are you afraid?"

He's legitimately curious; fear is an emotion that he's had no real experience with.

Aziraphale lifts his chin slightly, not wanting to give ground, and yet knowing the futility of trying to lie to him. Orisa can't seem to sit still, continually crawling around him, coiling and looping, as though trying to get comfortable, or jar him into movement. She wants to run, but what good would that do?

"Yes," he murmurs. "Are you?"

Rahab sits quietly on his shoulders, alert but calm, a draconic reflection of Lucifer himself; wary, and not necessarily at ease in these woods, but not afraid of them. He wouldn't even entirely recognize the feeling if it ever happened to occur to him.

"No," he says. "I'm an archangel, Aziraphale. There's nothing on this Earth or outside of it that I fear."

Save, perhaps, the Father, but fear and God-fearing are two different things.

Aziraphale narrows his eyes, unimpressed by the pronouncement.

"How fortunate for you," he says, earning a tense hiss from Orisa. He takes a small step to the side, edging back. "Was there something you wanted from me?"

Orisa nudges him sharply, as if to say Don't be an idiot. He ignores her, much to her palpable chagrin.

"I don't need to want anything from you," he says. "I already have it."

He wanted Crowley to serve him, and now he is obedient. As that human politican-philosopher once said back during the Renaissance days, it is better to be feared than loved; there is no doubt in his mind that Crowley fears him. That fear, the dread of pain, will keep him loyal even surer than love.

After all, he loves Aziraphale, and he still brought him to Lucifer when demanded. Fear is a trump card even for celestial beings.

Aziraphale's lip curls in quiet, barely contained fury, and Orisa hisses angrily from his shoulder. It enrages him to think of how Lucifer is using him to get at Crowley, and that he thinks of Crowley as his. He knows all too well that he should accept the situation, stay well out of the Devil's way, trust that they will figure something out, but with all the added nervous tension of this dream, and the way Orisa is bristling, feeding openly off his fear and frustration, standing down is suddenly an even more monumental task than usual.

He swallows slow and heavy, visibly getting himself under control, and says, "Then perhaps you could leave me be."

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

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