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

[all_the_gifts]

The woods are full of soldiers. Melanie knows it. There's no obvious sign of them, of course, but there wouldn't be - light and sound and smell and heat are all things that attract hungries, so any well-equipped group of soldiers would have ways to avoid all of those things. They'd be wearing e-blocker and night-vision goggles and special clothes that keep the heat in, and they'd be very, very quiet.

Melanie is being quiet, too. She's crouched between the roots of a sprawling oak with twisting branches, listening for the tell-tale scuff of a boot in the undergrowth, when a quiet voice beside her says, "They want to do experiments on us again."

It's so familiar a voice - and so familiar a thought, one that just ran through her own mind - that Melanie is more startled than afraid. She half expects to see another hungry child when she turns toward the speaker, perhaps one of her old friends from class. But the speaker isn't a hungry child, or a child at all. It's a small, red fox. A talking fox.

Dr. Caldwell would probably want to slice up a talking fox's brain, too. Melanie doesn't blame him (it sounds like a him) for being frightened. She's a little surprised to find any animal so close to her, though, and she cautiously holds out her hand so the fox can sniff it. (That seems like what Dickon would do. Melanie herself is a stranger to befriending animals.)

The fox doesn't sniff her hand. Instead, he presses the top of his furry head up against her palm, and then climbs into her lap as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Melanie wraps her arms around him automatically, astonished as she is. It just feels like the right thing to do.

There isn't even the faintest rattle from her box. Eating this little creature would be so incredibly, obviously wrong that even the hungry part of her doesn't dare to float the idea.

"What's your name?" she whispers, even as she lifts her head to listen for soldiers.

The fox swivels his ears, listening as well. "Nikolaos," he whispers back. Then, after a pensive beat, "I think we're meant to look after each other."

Melanie nods, and strokes her palm down the fox's spine. "I think you're right."

[fucking_ebay]

At least this time Peter isn't being a complete ass about it and trying to ditch his daemon or something equally idiotic. He and Cascia are sticking close together -- even if the memory of her hadn't resurfaced the moment they saw each other, both can sense in the other the need to stick close and take care of one another. Peter can hear both their -- both his -- breaths as they peer into the darkness, stumbling through the woods in a hopeless search for somewhere safe. What's stalking them can see them a mile off, and they'll never see him until he's on them, until he sinks he fangs into Peter's neck. Peter has no hope of hiding from him, no hope of outrunning him. He can practically hear the monster chuckling to itself as it watches, toying with him, waiting for the moment when it will finally pounce.

A twig snaps, and Peter and Cascia both jump. Peter twists around to face the source of the sound, breathing fast. Cascia, on the other hand, falls right over, muscles stiff and legs sticking straight out.

[rae_of_sun]

Under other circumstances, Sunshine would be really, stupidly glad to see her bee again. It's just hard to appreciate the reunion when she's terrified for her life. And when said bee is, at best, completely frigging useless.

"It's not my fault I'm diurnal, Rae," Modomnoc mutters balefully from her shoulder, where he's clinging tightly to her shirt. "I can't see shit out here."

"You don't have to see shit," she pants back at him as she runs through the trees. "I can see plenty. It's just that if that thing comes after us, you're not going to be able to do anything but, what, fly blindly into the nearest tree and--" she dodges around one such tree, "--knock yourself unconscious?"

There's a huff from her shoulder region. "I could sting someone."

Sunshine ducks behind a mossy boulder to catch her breath. "More than once?" she asks dryly.

"… Probably. I don't know, I've never tried it."

"Of course you haven't." Sunshine shoves herself away from the boulder's rough surface and breaks into a run once again. She makes it about ten yards before she collides with another person. Modomnoc is jostled off her shoulder and tumbles gracelessly into the leaf litter, and Sunshine lets out a shriek.

[imashinyboy]

Vince Noir is not especially surprised to find himself in a dark and mysterious forest, nor indeed particularly alarmed, despite the fact that it's a right proper skin-prickling sort of place with all sorts of creepy shit lurking in the shadows. He grew up in the jungle, after all! (at least he's pretty sure he did) And he can talk to animals, and he's pretty much used to wandering into strange places. How boring would life be if he didn't sometimes wander into mysterious magical shops, or accidentally find himself down the Amazon, or shift into the astral plane? You've gotta roll with these things.

He's definitely not dressed for foggily ominous forests, though, and he hitches his thin brocade jacket (embroidered with Stevie Nicks' actual hair, how cool is that?) a little tighter around his skinny chest. 'Wish I'd brought a scarf, at least,' he mutters to himself.

Or not to himself, as it's at that point that he catches sight of a whirring point of jewel-brightness in the dim, and grins widely. A hummingbird! 'Awright,' he greets it with a little jerk of the chin, feeling somehow quite cheered by its presence. 'What you doin' here? Doesn't seem like the sort of place you'd like to hang out, all this doom and gloom.'

The hummingbird comes to a halt in front of him, hovering about in front of his face, bobbing up and down, never quite still. 'It's not,' they agree. 'Like a cheap haunted house; tacky.' Flicking their little needle of a beak, the hummingbird darts up for a moment, looking about. 'Chuck a few strings of them fairy lights around, maybe a few drapes, liven up the colour scheme; cheer the place up no end.'

'Genius!' Vince exclaims, grinning a megawatt grin. 'You're right and all.'

But before he can expand further on the subject, the hummingbird gives an alarmed cheep, and divebombs his shoulder. 'Shit! Vince, get down!'

'Oi!' Vince protests, but drops anyway, dead into the bracken and leaf-mould of the forest floor, landing flat on the chest with his hands braced on the ground. He is gonna go spare if this jacket gets dirty. 'What?' he hisses.

'Dunno,' mutters the hummingbird. 'Thought it mighta been that mad green geezer again with the box, but... nah, 's nothing there.'

Green geezers or not, Vince's attention is now thoroughly occupied by the hummingbird, and he frowns at it. 'Hold up, hold up, how'd you know about that? Come to that, how'd you know me name? Pretty sure I've never met you before.'

If a hummingbird were capable of furrowing its brow, this one would be doing so. '... Huh,' they say after a moment, 'I dunno. Now that is well odd. 'Sawright, though, innit?'

And, because Vince does somehow feel like he knows this tiny, exterior-decor-minded little bird, it is. Flat on his stomach in the undergrowth with the damp soaking through his t-shirt, he gives them a little grin. 'Yeah, I reckon. You got a name, then?'

'Slightly,' the hummingbird announces after a little pause, like they've got to think about it, and Vince nods decisively. Slightly. He likes it.

((Note: Vince's daemon is genderless and takes they/them pronouns, for reference. They're a sort of nonexistent mashup between this and this))

[peacefulexplorer]

There is something watching him.

He knows there is. He knows it. Something - beyond the range of peripheral vision, beyond what he can perceive - is behind him or above him or on some different plane, prickling at the back of his neck and chilling his lungs. It's watching him.

There are too many places to hide here and too many ways something could leap out at him. The trees are all too tall, too wrong, with thickly spread-out canopies that block out any means of celestial navigation. There's the occasional breeze, the hiss of leaves and twigs rustling, but none of it does anything to put either of them at ease.

There is something watching him.

Daniel doesn't like being watched by things he can't watch back. Aliyah doesn't either, but she elects to say nothing about it other than to emit a low, nervous rumble in her chest. The glare of her white fur is at least highly visible even in the trees' long-cast shadows, a constant and reassuring reminder of her presence.

She stiffens for the third time in what feels like the last few minutes, prompting Daniel to do the same, but nothing confronts them, no great and terrible monstrous thing comes bowling out at them from the underbrush. For a minute Daniel's tempted to relax - as much as he can in these circumstances, anyway. But immediately after, Aliyah's ears flick up and her already dilated pupils widen even further. Daniel sucks in a tense breath and holds it. He can't hear anything.

Aliyah can.

Something's coming. Possibly something bad.

[wildmage_daine]

Two wolves pass between the trees at a brisk, mile-eating trot. Daine and Coromotto are on the move.

It's hard to keep to a trot when they both want to run, but until a clear threat presents itself, it makes the most sense to keep to a pace that they can both keep - all night, if necessary. Still - in part because Coromotto's legs are longer than hers - Daine occasionally has to lope a few paces to remain by his side. At least they're both here, together. That's some comfort.

A twig snaps, and Daine and Coromotto halt in unison, ears swiveling toward the sound, noses scenting the air. Anything? Daine asks silently.

Coromotto doesn't answer. She's close enough that she can feel the low rumble of a growl in his chest. Flicking her ears back, Daine wrinkles her muzzle in a snarl, ready to either bolt, or fight.

[anguiform]

What Crowley's doing couldn't really be described as slinking, much as he'd like to pretend. It involves a great deal more crashing and stumbling, for all his impressive night-vision, too panicked to dodge and leap at quite the right moments to avoid a branch or a dip in the ground. He's lost his sunglasses and hasn't bothered to replace them; his eyes glow yellow in the dark.

Hell's found out about his part in stopping Armageddon, he knows it, and they're after him. He's not actually sure whether the they in question are only a few of his superiors, or a full hunting party with Hellhounds and demonic steeds and the lot, but he knows they know he's here, and he knows they're chasing him, so he's running. Crowley doesn't at all fancy the eternity of torment that'll be waiting for him if they catch him.

Running with him-- or flying with him-- is a bird, like one of those green magpies, wings russet and barred, but much larger, near the size of a raven, and with a raven's large, blunt bill. And no ordinary bird, either; if they clear intelligence in her eyes wasn't enough, the way she occasionally shrieks, 'This way!' or 'Get up, you idiot!' would be a definite giveaway. Crowley would inquire more deeply, except that he's too busy running at the moment, and is therefore content with the inexplicable feeling that the bird, whoever she is, is entirely trustworthy.

'Shit!' he yelps as something catches his foot and sends him sprawling. The bird continues flying for a few seconds until something snags in Crowley's chest and she gives a hoarse croak of pain, rocketing backwards inelegantly.

'Fuck,' Crowley mutters, scrabbling himself around in the leaves for a moment to see who he's tripped over, because it felt like a body, like a limb, maybe, and then relaxes when he sees who it is, melting back onto his elbows and breathing hard. The fungus kid. Potentially alarming, granted, but not nearly on the same scale as the assembled hordes of Hell. 'Oh, it's you. What're you doing, lurking down here?'

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie and Nikolaos are making their way through the trees when he sees something and knocks her to the ground. A moment later, someone's foot has caught her leg, and she lifts her head to see Crowley similarly sprawled on the forest floor.

"Oh," she says, and at the same time Nikolaos snaps, "Careful!"

There's a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and Melanie turns to look at the fox. But he isn't a fox anymore. He's some kind of enormous creature, looming over her like an oncoming car, and he's giving Crowley a disapproving glare. Before Melanie can even speak, he says, "I know it's only Crowley, but he almost stepped on you. You could've bled."

That's a good point, but Melanie's still reeling from the fact that Nikolaos has just turned into a completely different animal as if it was nothing (never mind that he knows who Crowley is, somehow). "You changed!" she says, barely remembering to keep her voice down as she scrambles to her feet.

"I… did," he replies, sounding surprised by the fact, himself. He has to drop his head just for Melanie to be able to rub his nose easily. "Do you know what I am?" he asks in an undertone.

"No," Melanie admits, "but you're huge." Turning back to Crowley, she asks, "Do you know what Nikolaos is? Oh. And are you all right?"

[anguiform]

'Bloody--' Crowley starts when the little fox he'd briefly noticed at Melanie's side decides to turn into an absurdly huge hippopotamus. 'He's, uh, some kind of hippo, I think. Hippopotamus, that is. Though they've never been quite that... big, when I've seen them. Nikolaos,' he repeats dumbly, shoving himself up into a seated position to look around for the bird who'd been flying with him.

'Have you got a name?'

She flaps over, great claps of her beautiful banded wings, and gives him a sharp look. 'Of course I have a name,' she says, the you idiot implicit in her tone. 'Bayan.' She turns her attention to Melanie and Nikolaos, cocking her head and settling her feathers, tail fanning for a moment. 'We're fine. Well,' she amends, 'not fine, but we haven't been tracked down and subjected to unmentionable tortures yet, so I'd call that near enough as makes no difference. Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is a dream, if you've got a-- whatever I am as well.'

Crowley blinks. 'Uh, yeah. That.'

[bibliophale]

Something doesn't sit right, exactly, the sudden terror, the dislocation, just what are these woods anyway, where did they come from, all that. If the terror were less pronounced, he might take time to consider these other factors and realize that no, no, this is just a dream, there is no danger here.

"Don't just sssstand there," flicks a voice (and tongue) in his ear, a sinuous, heavy presence making itself known around his shoulders.

"Ohmygoodgracious," he yelps softly, jerking a bit as she coils around to face him. He blinks at her in the dark; a long, intricately patterned royal python. A talking one at that. And actually, now that he considers her properly, not a proper python at all. Something else. Not Daine, certainly not Crowley - something he's never seen before.

"What," he blusters at her. "What are you?"

"What an impolite quessstion," she practically sneers. "Get a move on, you great bloody moron, d'you want him to catch you?!"

"Oh." He doesn't question 'him', or how she knows for sure they're being chased, because there's a great deal of assumption they're both already operating on, and who is he to argue with his snake comrade? It's not like this isn't uncomfortably familiar territory, in a way.

He breaks into a sprint, or as close as he can get to one in the dark and treacherous woods, with a giant snake tangled around his upper body. She squeezes a little tighter around him to hold on, and he finds, curiously enough, that he doesn't mind it. It's like they know each other, have known each other, for lifetimes.

"I'm Aziraphale," he tells her, already out of breath.

"I know," she sighs. What an extremely put upon snake. "I'm Orisa. Keep running."

"Who's out there?" He throws a look over his shoulder and doesn't see anything, but that doesn't matter, not with the relentless dread pressing in on him.

"Who do you think?" she hisses.

Lucifer, of course, is the first thing that comes to mind. He doesn't like the idea of running, but there's something that makes him feel he must, that press of fear and danger. He has to keep moving. Has to find Crowley.

His body drags to a halt; out of bloody shape as usual, and he doesn't want to draw attention to himself by using his powers to move around. Especially not flying blind, so to speak. He braces himself on a tree to catch his breath while Orisa winds impatiently around him, hissing and peering around them.

"Aziraphale," she says urgently.

"I know," he pants, "I-"

Something snaps just near them and they both freeze, lifting their heads in unison to stare. Someone's out there. Someone's coming towards them.

[lo_recordado]

It is not yet the Day of the Dead, but on All Hallow's Eve the veil is thin enough that La Muerte can pass through these woods. Carefully, she scatters marigolds and sugar skulls, adding brightness and beauty to such a foreboding place. High in the clouds above her, a resplendent quetzal flutters above her. In the thickest part of the woods, he comes down to roost amongst the candles of her hat.

"Ay, so dark," she murmurs. With a flick of her wrist, the candles on her hem perch in different branches, offering a glow of safety for weary wanderers.

La Muerte hears a whisper and smiles, shaking her head. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. Come here in the light."

[aly_brighteyes]

It's easy enough for Aly to adjust her Sight so that her vision is as good as a cat's. The darkness worries, but doesn't frighten, her. No, it's what's out there in the dark that Aly is concerned for. The woods whisper and skitter in ways that remind her of spidrens and gryphons, all sharp and foul. She's clever enough and deadly enough against normal humans; it's the Immortals that worry her. The beasts are big and deadly and she's only one small mortal.

At last Angeron, dear dear crow, is on her shoulder. Reassuringly, he preens her hair and whispers contingency plans into her ear with Trick. Between the three of them, she knows, they're clever enough to find a way. If only Angeron could fly away without making them feel ill, then they'd truly be able to get a lay of the land and learn how to proceed.

"Angeron, my dear," Aly whispers, running a finger down the back of his glossy wings, "I do not like this place."

"Nor do I, Aly-child," Angeron agrees, tucking a lock of hair behind Aly's ear with his beak.

[imashinyboy]

Now this is more like it! Vince grins with relief when he sees the lights, and then with delight when Slightly (a hummingbird who, against all laws of nature, looks like a mix between this and this), darting ahead of him, chirps, 'Someone's been decorating!'

And so they have. Candles, flowers, those little skull candies that they make in Mexico; the creeping, unnerving feeling that's hung about the forest seems to have receded a bit, and Vince ducks down to pick up one of the little skulls. He turns it over in his hand for a moment, before looking up at Slightly.

'Is it, like, heresy or something to eat these? I mean, they are made of sugar, yeah?'

Slightly darts down, their ridiculous little noodle of a tongue flicking out to lick the skull. 'Dunno. But even if it's not, they have been sitting on the ground.'

'Oh yeah.' He'd forgotten about that, and he casts the sugar skull aside. In any event, the skulls are less interesting than the person scattering them, whom Vince and Slightly have just come upon, standing in a clearing. He can't actually tell if she's wearing makeup to look like a skull or if her head actually is a skull, but either way, she is looking genius; all decked out in a long red frock and the biggest hat Vince has ever seen, decorated with live candles!

He lets out a little laugh, bending a little at the waist like the impulse to launch into a Jagger impression, as Slightly executes a zippy little figure eight to land on Vince's shoulder. 'Whoah, you are looking well into it! I'm lovin' that. Who're you, then?'

[lo_recordado]

"All Hallows' Eve, no?" La Muerte says, smiling. She comes close to the man and his bird and holds out her hands, her own sugar skin glittering. Two fresh skulls form in her palms and she holds them out. "It's a little early for these, but they seem right for the occasion."

Such dark nights as these are the ones that need light, memory, and sweetness the most. With a few more resources, she could whip up some pan de muerto to ease others' fears, but this is quite short notice.

"Call me La Muerte. Usually I'm not seen by mortals, but these are strange woods, aren't they?"

[julianbashir]

It is pitch black and Julian is alone in the woods, and yet neither of these things explains the pure terror that is running through his being. He is afraid, deathly afraid, but he can't remember of what, and that might be the worst part of all. He has no weapon, no comm badge, no landing party team... there was no memory of arriving here, of a 'before.' All he knows is that his heart rate is elevated, his breathing erratic, and that he has an intense desire to hide. But where?

"Just keep moving. Makes you harder to catch, harder to find, harder to kill. Just keep moving until we find someplace that feels safe," a voice whispers near him. Something brushes against his leg, and Julian reaches out a hand to run his fingers through the soft fur as if it were second nature. "Agamede," he murmurs, the name coming. "It's you." Even though Julian can't quite remember how he knows her, the dream in which they met floats somewhere in the back of his mind and along with a sense of calm. The fennec fox snuggles up closer to him, and he doesn't question her company with him here in these strange woods. He is whole with her. "Run," Agamede reminds him. "Or they...it? Will find us. I don't think we have any more time. They're close."

[imashinyboy]

'Oh, yeah!' Vince laughs. 'Forgot about that that; 's tomorrow, innit?' He's not sure how he forgot; Hallowe'en is one of his favourite holidays. Not like Vince needs the excuse to dress up, but he enjoys it anyway.

'Thanks.' He's pretty sure she's offering the fresh sugar skulls-- conjured up out of nowhere too, dead impressive-- so he takes them, tucking one into the pocket of his jacket and holding the other one in the hollow of his palm. Slightly flutters down to alight on it, giving it another little lick. They cock their head up at La Muerte.

'Like, you're Death, you mean? We've met Death before.'

'Well,' Vince amends, 'Not like, Death Death, proper like, but a Death? I dunno, there were loads of 'em, all Grim Reapers, right? In cloaks and sickles and the lot. But you're more impressive than that lot by miles.' He gives a cheeky little grin that's half genuine and half for the sake of flirtation. It's true, at any rate; that Cockney lot shambling about in their cabs and that, they've got nothing on this lady.

[lo_recordado]

"Yes, and then the Day of the Dead comes afterward," La Muerte says, smiling gently. The most important holiday of them all, when families come together to remember their loved ones and keep their spirits happy and vibrant in her realm, rather than drifting into the Land of the Forgotten.

"I do rule over the dead, but I am not one of your Reapers," she explains. Laughing, La Muerte shakes her head and plucks one of her candles from her hat. Quetzal moves forward, occupying the space.

"This candle represents a light. When it's time, it will extinguish and its spirit will come to my home. The Land of the Remembered. There, it's a fiesta every day, with joy for everyone. And all you can eat churros."

[imashinyboy]

Vince leans in a little over the candle, like there might be something hidden in the shuddering little flame that he's missing, but there's nothing there that he sees that he wouldn't see in any ordinary candle. At her description of the Land of the Remembered, Vince grins, and Slightly makes a little fizzing noise way back in their throat, an avian expression of pleasure.

'Aw, that sounds brilliant. Parties all the time, yeah? Ace.'

'And churros are amazing,' chimes in Slightly. Vince grins, lifting his hand to give them a little scratch on the crown of their head.

'Right on. Oh!' He looks up again at La Muerte with a little nod. 'I'm Vince, by the way. Vince Noir, Rock and Roll star, dunno if you've heard of me. What're you doin' here, then? If you don't normally do the whole, you know, descending to walk among mortals thing.'

[lo_recordado]

La Muerte laughs at the hummingbird's assessment, nodding her agreement. Curious, Quetzal leaps down to her wrist to get a better look at them.

"It is good to meet you, Vince," she says kindly, though she can't say she's heard of him. Or of Rock and Roll for that matter, but time is relative and she's certain she will encounter such mortal achievements soon enough.

"And to be quite honest, I'm not sure. I can visit the mortal plane easily enough, specially on the days approaching and just after Dia de los Muertos. I meant to be in Mexico, but I seem to have found myself in a very different place."

[jane_eyre]

These are not the woods at Thornfield. These are no woods Jane remembers. She is alone, and afraid, and without a cloak to guard her against the cool, bitter mists. She wraps her arms around herself and stands stiff and straight, staring into the pale dark. Where is she?

Something else is here with her, she realizes, very near, just behind her. Her breath shudders to a halt, then slips out between her lips, a haze disappearing quickly into the air.

"Jane," the voice rumbles out slowly, giving her a start. She presses a hand to her breast but does not turn. There is something ethereal, unhuman about it, low to the ground, deeper and greater than the voice of a man. And yet, she is not quite afraid, at least not of the speaker. Once she's over the initial fright, it's rather a relief to have someone at her side.

"Who's there?" she murmurs.

"My name is Adeodatus," he says. "I believe we were meant to meet."

Something presses into the palm of her hand, the one hanging at her side; cold and wet, like the nose of a dog, surrounded by a matching muzzle of thick hair. She tenses but does not flinch away. The creature is not here to harm her; in fact, touching him feels quite safe.

At last, Jane turns around to face him.

Adeodatus is a beast, as she had suspected, though not a dog, but a bear, medium-sized, coming up just to her hip when on all fours, his fur so deep a brown it is almost black.

She knows she should be afraid to see him so close, but still, she is not. It is everything else in this foreign wood that frightens her; not Adeodatus. He is her companion; she is almost willing to say a part of her soul.

"Adeodatus," she says softly, crouching down to put her arms around his head. "I'm so very glad to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," he says. "Only I think we had better keep moving. This forest is not safe." He presses his snout against her shoulder. "You must get on my back. I will be able to carry you faster. Hurry, dear Jane."

Quiet and grateful, Jane nods and pulls herself up to the bear's back, sitting behind his jagged shoulder blades. She grips his fur in little fistfuls as he takes her swiftly through the woods.

Apologies to SailorPtah

[interndana]

The woods seem to go on forever, and Dana is hopelessly lost. There's something out here in the dark with her, and part of her suspects that her double, that thing with her face, is waiting and armed and ready to destroy her. She can't know this for certain, and she wants to calm down and try to reason her way through this, but Teotimus isn't helping.

Every little sound, every crack of branches or crunch of leaves sets the little galago off, and he leaps from her shoulder to a nearby tree, to another tree and back to her again in the space of two seconds.

"We should keep moving!" he urges in a whisper, looking around in the dark for a way forward. His pupils are huge now, able to see well in the gloom, and his ears are in constant motion trying to identify the sounds of danger. "It's not safe to stand still, we have to go!"

"Teo, wait," Dana hisses, but he takes off anyway, springing up into the branches and forging ahead too fast for her to keep up. She staggers after him, panic rising in her chest because she knows, somehow, that it's dangerous for him to go too far away and that it will hurt, it will hurt more than anything. Dana can't see in the dark but she can feel the distance growing between them, and she grows more and more anxious as a few yards stretch towards that invisible barrier that should not be passed, and then--

Nothing.

It's so confusing that Dana stops abruptly and peers up into the trees. "Teotimus?" She asks, daring to raise her voice. He comes bounding back from several yards away and lands softly on her head. They are both of them unharmed. "But I thought..." Dana wonders, and Teotimus leans down to look in her eyes and lay a tiny hand on her forehead.

"I don't know," he replies. "I don't know why, but that's not important right now. Come on." And with that he leaps away again.

"Just don't go too far!" Dana protests, setting off at a jog to follow him.

((OOC: I'm taking a page out of this excellent Night Vale/HDM AU fic and assuming that Dana's temporal-dimensional displacement means that she and her daemon have a witch's range, just go with it))

good grief I'm so sorry these are all so LONG

[johnny_truant]

Johnny knows he's dreaming, barely, but that doesn't make it any better. That almost makes it worse. Whether or not anything is out there, something can hurt him. Something very likely will.

"Fuck," he whispers. Ordinarily he prefers dreams that are outside, but not this place, this place is awful. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He takes several strides forward, feeling a horrible itch like he's forgotten something, and then a dull ache in his chest which suddenly solidifies into a familiar pang. He catches like he's caught on a string, doubles over, clutching at his chest. He gasps, staring around himself. He remembers this feeling, and as much as it hurts, he's almost glad to feel it. He crawls back, feeling blindly through the leaves and twigs.

"Nova?" he says, a little hopefully. What was her full name? "Novatiana?"

"Johnny?" whispers a tiny voice near his hand. "Johnny!"

"Hey!" He feels the little rabbit nosing toward him, and he scoops her up and hugs her to his chest. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were-"

"I wanted to say something but I was so scared," she babbles, pressing her soft little head up against him. "I couldn't move!"

"Yeah, I know." He gets to his feet, a little unsteady while he holds her. "It's okay. I've got you." He looks around, trying to find any sign of where to go, but every direction feels dangerous. There are no good goddamn options.

"We can't stay here," she urges. He can feel her little heart beating wildly against his, and he strokes her fur as soothingly as he can. "Please, Johnny, we have to go!"

He starts walking, partly just to calm her, but walking doesn't feel any better, it feels like they could heading for danger instead of waiting for it to come to them. He has a feeling nothing is going to feel safe here.

"I don't like this dream," she whispers.

He rubs his finger gently between her ears. "Me neither. But I'm glad I get to see you again."

"Yeah." She twitches and freezes, causing him to stop short. "Did you hear that?" she hisses. "Something's there!"

Johnny presses back, flattening himself against a tree as best he can, as if this will help. Nova shudders in his hands, both of them endeavoring to be as silent as possible. Please, please, don't let it be something awful, not now, when he finally gets to see her again.

[etherthief]

Iman is fucking hassled. As if it weren't bad enough waking up in the middle of these big huge scary woods which are certainly filled with countless terrible things, there's a giant talking crow following her around.

"Go away, bird," she snaps. "I've told you like three times already, I am not having this, any of this. Prophetic terror corvids are right at the top of the list of things I am not having. Piss off."

"I'm part of you, dipshit," he snaps right back. "And I have a name, it's Aqil, I've told you as much. Look where you're going, you're about to walk into that lady. Man? Person."

"Part of who now- oh FUCK." Iman halts sharply, juuuust about to trip over the weirdo in the dirt. "What are you doing? Oh, look, he's got a bird too. Perfect. Meant to be. You stay here, I'll get help." Most of this, dry as dirt, directed to Aqil, who is now sitting on a branch and looking down at them uneasily.

She sighs heavily and looks at the guy on the ground. "Seriously, though, are you okay?"

[apidae]

"Ah!" Bee shrieks in response, staggering back and clutching Simonides closer to her. He wraps his tail around her arm, his little claws scrabbling somewhat painfully against her shoulder. "It's all right, it's all right," she soothes frantically, petting his silky fur. He huddles up against her hair. She's barely gotten any words out of him; he's just as quiet as she used to be, really, but he's sweet and familiar, and she's desperately happy to have him in this terrifying place.

"Sunshine!" She calms at once as she realizes who it is she's just run into. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you - are you okay?" She reaches out to help her friend up, still feeling the urgency to keep them moving. They have to get away from it - whatever it is - out there, coming for them.

[prudence_and_honour]

There are woods in the country around Delaford and Barton Cottage, but they are, Elinor is quite sure, no woods like these. Not, of course, that she has ever walked out this late before, but she feels confident in thinking that she would recognise those familiar woods even at this late hour. These woods are-- it feels absurd to think it even to herself, but they are like something out of one of Marianne's fancies. She is quite sure that were her sister here, she would at once proclaim the forest to be full of wicked sprites, or perhaps the spirits of the unquiet dead waiting to draw down the soul of any hapless nighttime walker.

But as Elinor does not believe in any such nonsense, there is nothing to be afraid of. Merely trees, and the dark; shadows may frighten a child's mind, but they are merely shadows. She has never heard tell of brigands or vagrants in this country, so she need merely find her way out of the wood, and that will be that.

To her great consternation, however, no amount of stern justification does anything to quell the flutter of irrational anxiety in her belly. Still, she thinks firmly to herself, at least she is properly attired. Her woollen pelisse and a plain shawl ensure that, if nothing else, she will not catch a chill.

'Still,' says a sudden and unexpected voice at her ear, 'we had best start moving, do you not think?'

Elinor only barely stifles a scream, so shocked is she, clapping a hand to her mouth, the other wrapping around her belly as she looks about herself. There is no sign of any person, much less one so near, and she lets out a shuddering breath that she can see in the moonlight.

'Who is there? It is most unseemly to play such tricks, and I will not have it.'

Her voice, she thinks, is admirably firm, but she jolts horribly when the first voice speaks again, so near she can all but feel it on her skin. 'Your pardon, Elinor. I am here, on your shoulder. Pray, do not startle.' She registers for the first time a faint weight there, and then a prickle, felt only barely through layers of fabric. Swallowing, she reaches up with both hands to find... what? Living flesh, certainly, but dry and pebbled beneath her fingertips. A lizard, she discovers, as she lifts it down, and she stares at it in frank astonishment.

'This--' she swallows, and shakes her head. 'This cannot be. I am-- dreaming.'

'Perhaps,' says the lizard, 'And I do not deny that it is... most peculiar. I am not accustomed to being... outside you.'

'Outside?' Elinor echoes, and the lizard shakes its-- no, his, she is quite certain it is a male-- head, blinking slowly at her.

'I believe,' he says, in measured, educated tones, 'I am what you might refer to as your... soul.' Although even as he says as much, it is as if he cannot quite believe it himself. Elinor, who has of course always believed in the immortal soul of man, certainly never imagined it in the form of a peculiar, brightly-coloured lizard.

'I see,' she says, though she does not, and the lizard-- smiles. She did not know such as he were even capable of the expression, but smile he does.

'You may call me Caractacus-- beware!'

Elinor looks about for what Caractacus may be warning her of, but despite the caution, she is entirely unprepared for the sight of a young lady in a most peculiar dress, her red hair aglow in the moonlight, riding a bear. This time she does not shriek, but she does stumble backwards, clutching Caractacus to her breast and staring, wide-eyed.

'I-- I beg your pardon,' she manages after a moment.