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

[antitimelord]

For all of that, Johnny seems to have taken his advice to heart; he certainly let the rabbit go, a bit more forcefully than Zagreus' admonition really warranted, if he's being honest, but what can you do, some people just can't do anything right. It was a smart move on Johnny's part, really, for all it's suspect origins. The chimaera surges eagerly in the direction of Johnny's throw, it really couldn't do otherwise, not standing over Johnny and waiting as it had been, grotesquely playful and keyed for pursuit. Throw the ball, Johnny. Zagreus makes no effort to keep it in check. Whether because he approves of the creature's game or because he doesn't want to find out whether or not it would listen, who could say. Immediately the chimaera is mostly lost to the darkness, but it can still be heard, hunting through the leaves and general forest litter for the little rabbit.

Not that Johnny looks to be in any position to judge Zagreus on being in control of himself, in whatever iteration that self currently happens to be. It's somewhat mollifying, for Johnny to be in a useless heap; Zagreus was starting to feel a bit shown up by his own monster. Is that symbolising anything, or just annoying? Whatever. Something is digging into the back of his mind like a thorn, and he responds in kind, digging the toe of his shoe sharply into the hollow of Johnny's collarbone. Like the chimaera's pawing, peremptory but broadly repulsed. And...not a little hopeful. There has to be a spine in here somewhere. "Where's your earthquake now?"

[johnny_truant]

"Don't-" Johnny rasps out, too soft to be heard, really, buried in the dirt and the leaves along with him. The chimaera stalks through the woods, circling, and he can feel Nova hiding, frozen, scared. He wants her to run, get as far away as she can - he knows it will hurt like hell, maybe until their invisible tether snaps, but maybe it's possible, maybe she could get away.

He can feel her, practically vibrating with indignation. I'm not leaving you, idiot.

His focus moves quickly from his soul-rabbit to himself when Zagreus nudges him hard with his fucking foot. Johnny flinches and makes an involuntary grunt, sounding soft and pitiful and preylike. Hearing himself like that sends a sudden resurgence of his usual, stupid anger ripping through him, and he digs his fingers into the dirt, staring up at Zagreus with open, teeth-bared hatred.

"Won't work out here," he says coldly, because there's no point in refusing to answer. "It only works on houses."

He wants to fight back, against the obvious taunt, the indignity of being toed at, but he can't, quite. His arms won't work, or his legs, or all of him. He's pinioned by the point of Zagreus' shoe, paralyzed beneath it.

[antitimelord]

Zagreus nods like he'd expected as much, still watching Johnny with detached disgust--look what a gross thing was under this rock, truly, nature is amazing and mysterious. In reality of course he hadn't expected as much, but there had to be some limitation to Johnny's power, and narrative demands it be a significant one. The only real surprise here is Johnny saying something straightforward and informative instead of telling him to go away. Perhaps the snarling is new as well, but Zagreus isn't exactly keeping track.

The chimaera is still trotting its irregular zigzags through the roots and litter, increasingly frustrated, unable to find its prey. Greek monsters are surprisingly unsuitable for real world pursuits like hunting, or maybe that isn't surprising in the slightest. Why else would they have given a female monster a mane, besides a lack of understanding of reality? Natural disasters are ferocious, not skilled. Metaphors ought to be heard and not seen. They had thought meat spontaneously generated flies, too. Zagreus unpins Johnny only to crouch nearby, arm rested on drawn up knee pleasantly, sympathetically. "That sounds a lot more useful than I would have given you credit for. Just in dreams, or in the waking world? Don't lie, I'll check."

[johnny_truant]

Johnny keeps his eyes on Zagreus, though he's still very aware of the chimaera. It seems to be having trouble finding Nova, who blends well into the brush. Small favors.

"Both," he murmurs. He feels a twist in his gut; he's giving everything away open-handed this time, with none of the usual interrogation and torture song and dance. He's not even being held in place anymore, apart from the precarious distance of his rabbit. "Most of the time anyway. Dreams are a toss-up."

The words sound normal, organized like a conventional conversation, but there's a dogged, forced nonchalance to them, trepidation in his eyes and contempt in his lips. He's coiled like a spring or a prey animal, ready to run, though there's no point to that, really, and he probably won't try it. It's just for show. Habit. Old habits cling to life but they're getting easier to cage.

[antitimelord]

For a moment it looks like Zagreus means to follow through on his fact-checking, reaching for Johnny like he means to comb through his thoughts yet again. But for all he'd threatened it, he only brushes Johnny's hair away from his temple, still feigning sympathy, like he's feverish instead of venomously petrified. Johnny isn't lying, but that doesn't mean Zagreus doesn't want to see him flinch. His cooperation is of course appreciated, but it wouldn't even necessarily guarantee forbearance, if the forest weren't just enough of a distrusted unknown to keep all mental limbs safely inside the vehicle. Nothing in the rules says cooperation has to guarantee anything, not in this circumstance and not for Johnny.

"Good. You'll need that. Any houses?" Because Zagreus knows specifics are important. The devil's in the details. Johnny isn't clever or mythically fickle enough to need such attention to detail, but the Rift, and its power-granting logic, is a different story altogether.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny does flinch, scraping his shoulder through the dirt in an effort to pull back from the hand that, regardless, manages to brush through his hair. Catching Zagreus' wrist is a reflexive motion as well as a stupid one, but once it's happened it's too late. He's frozen, half sprawled and curled in the dirt, propped up on his shoulder, holding the predator's wrist like he means to push his hand away. He doesn't; he doesn't release his grip either. Just stares into Zagreus' eyes, his expression shifting fluidly from fear to defiance and back again. Everything he does in these interactions is like finding the book: he regrets everything but he won't put it back.

"So far," he says through his teeth, ignoring the dissonance of answering his questions like a good boy during this half-expressed act of physical repulsion. "Anything... constructed."