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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"I'm not scared of your brother, and I'm not going anywhere." The feeling that he has stepped into the middle of something larger and more all-encompassing than himself is surprisingly unfamiliar to the Doctor. The feeling of being almost, but not quite, imperceptibly clung to is not. He stops completely, and the look on his face is no longer animatedly aghast but grave and indecipherable, a face that has forgotten to ape humanity. Notably he does not let go of this mysterious creature's little clawed hand, grabbed for the sake of convenience and excitement, now grasped for actual reassurance. Once again, a lot of what she has just said makes little or no sense, but some things he definitely understood. "So you spend all your time running and hiding in dreams that aren't yours. What about when you're awake? Do you hide there, too?"

When he comes to a halt, Calliope's breath catches, for a dreadful moment completely expecting him to let go of her and tell her to stay away. But once again he defies her expectations. And as inconceivable (and probably unwise) as it is, looking up into his now so still and serious face, she can actually believe that he isn't scared. If anything, she thinks perhaps others ought to be scared of him, though not her, because he's holding her hand more tightly now.

Still, it feels a little bit like disappointing him to admit, "I am not asleep. He was already successful once, and killed me. I'm only a ghost now, that is why I have these spooky blank eyes. But he will never feel that he has won until all traces of me are truly gone." When she'd explained this to Roxy, it was to help her friend understand the gravity of their situation, to instruct her to prepare for further battles, and perhaps a little to justify her own foolishness. Now, it doesn't feel like there is any such burden of responsibility on her. A somewhat new feeling, given how she's always been the one with access to all the information, having to figure out how to responsibly dole out hints to her friends without risking the stability of causality, nudging them in the right direction through all their troubles. It's new, and oddly comforting.

A ghost. He closes his eyes, and it feels like mourning. And guilt, to realise how absolutely too late the possibility of help has arrived, though this has nothing to do with him and it's only by the rarest coincidence that he's aware of it at all. But she's a very lively ghost, all things considered, and quite resilient too, by the sound of things. Clever, and good at hiding. Good for her. Run and hide in dreams forever, little green ghost. The owl, having been still and silent as a wooden carving all this time, makes her presence known once more, with a quiet, "I'm sorry."

The Doctor has about as much time for grief as he does for voluntary sleep, however. "So. Your brother is powerful enough to put cracks in the universe itself. What does that make you, Ms. Scholar?"

For a moment, she is stumped on interpreting his reaction to her words, wondering if he really is disappointed that she wasn't strong enough to stand up to her brother. But then she sees the sadness in his expression, and the owl confirms it. It's strange to think someone is grieving for her, especially since she hasn't even heard from her friends for so long, and it is quite touching, but she doesn't like it. He shouldn't be sad; it isn't his fault that she failed, and she has started suspecting that it wasn't a great loss.

The snake, who had silently paid witness to the whole conversation curled around her shoulders, now raises his head towards the owl to pronounce solemnly, "We aren't gone yet." Calliope finds that surprisingly uplifting, and her new friend's sweet little epithet for her even brings a smile round her fangs, albeit a very small and wistful one. "I once believed I was meant to become an exceptionally gifted Muse of Space, with powers formidable enough to rival those my brother is now exhibiting... Obviously I was only fooling myself, though. I'm not much use for anything now, except to go looking for a more successful iteration of myself. Legend has it that she was strong-willed enough to utterly defeat my brother, as he did with me, so if she really exists, she must be the key to destroying him."

The feeling of being on the borders of something very vast and complex remains, and grows stronger with everything she says. The Doctor is no stranger to cosmic battles and rewriting the events of history, so it's a familiar strangeness. He could salute it in passing, if he were the type. As it is he merely makes note of it.

"It seems like you're the strong-willed one, hanging on and finding a way around death to fight your brother. That kind of tenacity is impressive, moreso than formidable powers, anybody can have those and it's unlikely to be much of an advantage. I don't think a lack of will is your problem, and I bet the snake agrees with me. Fooling yourself is a boring road to go down, don't you think you're a little too scholarly for that?"

For a moment, she is quite speechless in the face of so much kindness. Even though she can't agree with what he says, the fact that he's saying such nice and encouraging things at all is so unexpected and generous. It really is a shame that he's wrong.

"You are so lovely for believing that of me," she says earnestly, if a little regretfully. "But you do not know my brother, or our unique situation. He's the one with all the cursed tenacity and bollocksing stubbornness, while I was silly enough to believe I could wrangle him into cooperation, right up until he had me murdered. I really should have seen his final move coming." Familiar frustration and anger at her brother is bubbling up inside her and she frowns ponderously, though underneath that she still feels like crying for how useless and hopeless she is now, and it threatens to break her voice. "Hanging on after death is rather inevitable, and I am still not doing anyone much good, because I'm too bloody scared to leave my hideout and actually go search for my other self!" Now the frustration has turned on her and she has to squeeze her empty eyes shut against the feeling of tears.

Amusingly and intensely fakey-fake Englishisms aside, he can relate to an eerie degree. Who knows better than he does what it feels like, to not have seen a final move coming? Because of willful, ill-advised optimism, because of trying to see things that aren't there and handing out second chances that aren't drawn on his account, and half the time being elsewhere when the consequences come home to roost. Only this little skull child is not only blaming herself soundly for it, but was the one to actually pay for it, disastrously. Scared, but not a coward.

She is also, maybe, crying? Trying not to cry? Ghost-crying? Something panic-inducing, anyway. He wheels and crouches to her level, ignoring the owl's protest at the sudden drop in altitude. Now, in contrast, his look is too human, too much expressive distress crammed into one face. He has enough borrowed common sense still stored up not to rudely shake a maybe-ghost-crying child, but he still puts his hands on her shoulders urgently, in case mild jostling becomes necessary. "Hey. Listen. You could do a lot worse than scared. Scared is just fine, scared is a-okay. It isn't giving up, it's a tactic. Listen to your snake, if you won't listen to me. He's very smart. You're not gone yet."

Calliope's breath catches when his hands touch her shoulders and her eyes snap open to stare into a face that looks just as distressed as she feels. She's quite unsure about the meaning of this, the way he is holding her and looking at her as though she was a very fragile thing, as though he's afraid she might fall or run away. It's enough to startle her out of nearly crying, though she stiffens noticeably for lack of any sort of instinctual understanding of what is happening or how to react to it.

The snake is the one to break the surprised silence, weaving around her shoulders until his head is level with her ear canal, while staring at her friend consideringly. "He is right," the snake decides. "The game is not over until our purpose is clear and creation is safe. There are a few moves left." She glances at the reptile before looking back at her friend, wringing her claws and trying to take both their words to heart. Absently she notices that she isn't carrying her gun anymore, at some point having forgotten to keep imagining it. Not that she needs a weapon when she has such kind and protective company.

"I suppose so..." she begins, though she can't quite hold his painfully concerned gaze, not when she feels like his encouragement and confidence would be better placed elsewhere. "But I find it hard to believe that you know very much about being scared. You are not afraid of this forest, or my brother. You aren't even afraid of my hideous appearance," a very small sound like a sob escapes her at that, shamefully aware that he has been looking directly at her.

"It does not feel like a strategically calculated move. It just feels like blasted cowardice, and letting down my friends." She seems to be shrinking in on herself as she goes on, so perhaps that's what he is holding her shoulders for. Though she wishes he was still holding her hand instead.

He hadn't meant it to be a startling gesture, hadn't been thinking at all really, but as long as it ~~stopped her from crying~~ helped in some way. He does note her seeming unfamiliarity with familiarity, immediately now that he's seen it in action more than once. He recalls an alien race that had, on a superficial level, seemed completely at ease with the concept of hugging, but promptly fell into distress if the gesture were returned--turns out that, within their own species, it was for the purpose of seeking comfort from a sort of telepathic tree-elder, the next stage in their life cycle. And trees aren't supposed to hug back. Which is to say, for all that this looks like a palette swapped child with some minor modifications, not everything is as universal as it seems, sometimes. Who made this strange creature responsible for creation anyway, he has no idea.

Since she doesn't seem to be standing up to scrutiny especially well, and because he's increasingly at a loss, he recaptures her claw-hand and sets out once more, albeit at a slightly slower and more attentive pace. "Wrong. I know plenty about being scared, and about cowardice too. You don't get to be thousands of years old without that." What a general and non-specific statement. "And just because it didn't start out as a strategy doesn't mean it can't be one now. Time and intention are very flexible, that way. Moreso if you're a time traveler, but don't let that limit you. Why are you convinced your appearance is frightening, anyway. Is it the spooky-eyes?" he asks with seemingly mild curiosity. Time for another rapid subject change.

And they're off again, he really keeps one on one's toes. That's a good thing, she thinks, it's a relief that he is taking the lead and her hand fits reassuringly into his. Mainly though, he keeps startling her out of her negativity. She noticed that he didn't have any kind words to say about her letting down her friends, but before she can feel even more miserable about that, he's pulling her along and admitting to being thousands of years old. For a moment she's in awe thinking he must be a highblood, but she quickly reminds herself that he isn't any sort of troll. Still, perhaps he's right... he must have been afraid of something at some point in all that time, as difficult to imagine as that is. What might it have been?

She doesn't get a chance to think on what scares him any more than she gets to process the truth in what he's saying about time and intention, before he takes a hairpin turn right back into her disgrace. Though his tone isn't mean-spirited or repulsed, and that helps a little. "No, all ghosts have those. Although they are usually white, not such a gloomy black." Just another way in which she is cursed to look different and more ghastly than everyone else. She sighs. "I have always admired humans, and trolls even more so, for their beauty and grace. Among other things, of course! Their appearance is not the only laudable thing about them, their cultures and social dynamics are so fascinating and complex too." She doesn't feel like she is explaining well at all, but she presses on anyway. "But I think they look so... gentle, peaceful. Nary any claws or fangs or bald skulls in sight." This time when she sighs, it's much closer to a shaky, self-loathing sort of sound. "They have stories about things that look like me. Those are never good stories."

The Doctor makes an involuntary little sound, not quite a fully fledged hmph, more a hatchling really, the remnants of a carefully held back tirade. There's another portion of his hoard of common sense used up, who knows when or where that will be replenished. Humans? Really? "Well. Looks can be deceiving, can't they. Humans are anything but gentle and peaceful, as often as not. And gentle and peaceful isn't all it's cracked up to be, either." He sighs testily. "Do you know, I've met people in my travels who were terrified because of my species. Or just bitterly hateful." To the point of dying, rather than accepting his help, in fact. "It wasn't unjustified. Can't say I wouldn't trade that for claws and fangs." He squeezes her hand, reassuring, humorous, like a conspiratorial wink. She needs it, and he can drape himself with brooding like an antisocial bat in a cave on his own time. There are stories about him, too.

He doesn't ask about her relationship with her own species--her fixation on humans and, what, trolls? Doesn't bode well for that line of inquiry, as he well knows. Wonder which one's the more typical example, her or her brother? He thinks he could guess the answer to that, if he tried. "I promise you, there are places where you wouldn't cause so much as a batted eye. I've been to most of them, been run out of a few. So I know."

His opinion of humans sounds rather cynical and she has to wonder what he's seen to think of them that way. Humans may not always be the best at kindness and cooperation, but they handle many challenges admirably. Though that isn't really the crux of her self-disgust anyway. And it seems she isn't as alone in that as she had thought. Her heart grows even heavier to hear that he has encountered the sort of reactions she has so far only dreaded but never experienced herself.

"For what it is worth, and I know it may not be much...," she offers, squeezing his hand in return, "you have been very kind to me. I find it hard to imagine that treating you with fear or hatred would be justified. And whoever did so missed out on a lovely friend." At least, others shouldn't be afraid of him unless he means them to be. He did seem rather imposing earlier, when she told him about her brother. And he broke his promise, but that turned out much less awful than she'd anticipated and he has done a lot to make up for it.

She knows there isn't much else to say, and that she isn't likely to make a difference to him, but she had to try. Next she wants to ask about those places he's been to; they sound quite unbelievable and hearing a story or two would distract her a little. Perhaps he'd like telling them, too. There is something else she's been wondering about for longer, though. "You said you aren't the species you appear to be. Do you perhaps choose a different appearance to be less frightening?" That suddenly seems like a very forward thing to ask and she hurriedly amends, "I don't mean to pry! Only, that is what I did when I met another soul here before. I wish I knew why I am unable to do so this time."

She can't possibly know enough about him or about his universe at large in so short a meeting that she can say that with any certainty, but it's a nice thought. Very charitable. Hard to imagine she'd keep that outlook if she knew any better. Which, if she weren't a ghost, she might get to--she certainly falls into the dispossessed category, someone whose life probably can't get much worse. Sadly she's on the wrong side of doomed now.

Her next question nearly startles a laugh out of him, despite his gloomy thoughts. If he chose this appearance to be specifically less frightening, he grievously miscalculated. Not that it's as straightforward as all that, it isn't like he picked it out of a catalogue and got the eyebrows as a complementary gift. "I am exactly the species I appear to be, just not human. There are differences, if you know what to look for, quite a lot of them actually. But not obvious. There's a lot more to being frightening than physical appearance." That's not even an aspect of it, generally speaking. The universe is vast and diverse, and for all that she has some awareness of other cultures she's still very insular in her outlook. But enough about him, problem-solving is more interesting. "Perhaps the representative animals are forcing us all to represent ourselves truthfully," he offers, though it's not exactly a hypothesis he can test.

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

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