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]

"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.