applesaucedream | Better to Receive than to Give [open to all]

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Better to Receive than to Give [open to all]

Somewhere in the cosmos, there is something bright, and young, and playful. Somewhere, this being watches over their little flock and does their best to make those people safe and happy. Somewhere, that godling and their flock celebrate the winter holidays in the happiest of dreams.

And somewhere closer at hand, a sleeping giant stirs.

The bright tapestry of dream threads gathered by Zephyr is suddenly yanked hard enough to pull it from its temporary mooring. Something entirely unlike the little godling reels in the dreamers so neatly gathered and packaged up for it, bringing its own toys back to their proper place and taking all the others it can with them. Unsatisfied, it reaches out again and again, dragging in dreamers from all across the multiverse. It will snare them, all of them, and then it will possess them completely.

Perhaps it's fitting that when the stolen dreamers arrive in this new shared mindscape, they'll find they've been designated the Rift's Christmas gifts to itself. Each might awaken inside a dark box, or cocooned in…is that tissue paper? When they claw their way out they'll be greeted by the sight of an enormous evergreen tree laden with twinkling lights and kitschy knickknacks looming overhead. Beyond the shadow of the tree the rest of the world -- that is, the living room -- is just as large. Or is it that the dreamers have just become very small? Giant packages wrapped in bright paper form an obstacle course, but the wooden floor of the room is wide open between the tree and the hearth where an enormous plate of cookies and glass of milk await a cataclysmic Santa Claus.

All in all, things are fairly normal as far as the rift's dream gatherings go…at least on the surface. The more telepathically sensitive among the dreamers may notice an undercurrent of something darker, more urgent, and more possessive than normal. The rift isn't just sampling the wares of other worlds tonight; this time it means to play for keeps.

[OOC: This is the second part of our crossover with

wethelost! Part one can be found here. Usual dream party rules apply: all players and characters are welcome regardless of whether they are currently in the game, and characters may remember or forget the events of the dream party at the discretion of their players.

For reference, characters of average human height are roughly four inches tall according to the scale of their current surroundings. There is an entire giant house beyond the living room; characters will find a kitchen and dining room on the same floor, a staircase outside the door of the living room that leads up to a second floor with two bedrooms and a bathroom, and another staircase off the kitchen that goes to an unfinished basement. Feel free to add details as needed!

This event takes place on evening of August 8th/morning of August 9th in Applesauce time, and December 31 in WtL time.]

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Daniel looks at him, fully aware of that redirection and the reasoning behind it. Finally he shifts his weight, dropping the concerned tilt of the head and the apologetic, sympathetic frown. Johnny isn't eager to rehash those specifics and that's entirely understandable. He won't press the topic or its inelegant denouement, at least not here. Here is really not the best place to be doing that.

"Ahh, why not." He gives the hulking white block of a fridge an appraising lift of eyebrows, and shrugs. "We're in a dream, might as well."

Yes, because that reasoning has never resulted in anything horrible.

Johnny chuckles as he pads across the linoleum floor, looking askance at the towering kitchen table, the massive oven. Being in here gives him the creeps even more than under the tree, like any minute someone's going to stamp them out like a pair of cockroaches. Or drop them in a pot to boil. Because that would make sense.

He skirts past the fridge in the end, because there's no way they're getting it open, even if that was a remotely practical idea. He's interested in getting out of the house.

Past the fridge is another door, this one wide open onto a yawning, dark expanse. Basement steps? Johnny approaches, peering down. Not the basement, or not all the way down, anyway - just a few steps (cliff-walls, to them) and then the back door. There's a light on outside, glowing faintly in the apparent night, casting gloomy shadows across the short staircase. Difficult to navigate, and terrifying, but it's an exit. And most importantly, Johnny's pretty sure he sees - yeah.

"Jackpot," he says, managing to actually sound pleased. "Backdoor. And there's a cat flap."

That, they can probably get through with a minimum of strain, and no unwanted power usage.

"All we gotta do is get down the stairs," he adds wryly. Kind of a major caveat.

Well, that's one more exit than what they had available to them a minute ago, so Daniel will call that progress. For a minute he stupidly scans the wall for an interior light switch before remembering it wouldn't matter one way or the other, seeing as they'd never be able to reach it.

"Better than the fridge," Daniel answers decisively, crouching at the edge of the first step. "Not the most inviting place, is it?" But creepy staircases and darkened pathways have hardly deterred him before. Undaunted, Daniel drops from the first step and lands with a soft oof onto the second, staggering a little to keep from overbalancing but admirably not tumbling down in an undignified, painful sprawl.

"Down is easier than up, at least," he offers. Which, hopefully they won't need to head back up in a great hurry. You know, in case the cat comes home.

In case the -

Nope. No, not thinking about that. Very definitely not.

"Yeah," says Johnny, shuffling himself awkwardly over the edge. He lands a bit more clumsily than Daniel, falling back on his ass. He snorts and says, "Well, relatively."

He gets to his feet and makes sure he's still in good condition to attempt the second drop. He really, really doesn't want to ask Daniel to catch him, though this is a case where height and muscle mass are actually a plus, and Johnny has none of those. Still, though. No fucking way is he asking that.

"Yeah I don't actually know what we'll do if we have to turn back," he says after a moment, considering the step they just leapt from. He's pretty sure they can't get back up there. Maybe if Daniel gave him a boost, but is he strong enough to then haul Daniel up? He'd need to find a dollhouse stepladder. Or he'd need to mess around with the house some more. This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

Too late now. He laughs off his remark and lowers himself a bit more carefully this time, hanging from the step before letting go, landing only a bit less awkwardly.

Seems they're both stuck on that unfortunate line of thought. That's fine. That doesn't mean there's actually a cat or an equally monster-sized pet of some kind. The owners themselves have been absent, as far as Daniel can tell; there's no reason to suspect they have a cat or that it might come calling. Right? Absolutely.

"Maybe," Daniel begins, eying the previous step over one shoulder, but the suggestion he was about to make trails off pointlessly when he realizes he didn't actually have a suggestion, just talking aloud for the useless comfort of it. Right now the only other reassurance he can grasp is that at least they are moving forward which is pretty much what one is meant to do in dreams. They're moving down, granted, but down also promises to mean out. That's the hope.

He turns back and follows Johnny down the next step with a minimum of stumbling but the third step nearly has him rolling down the remainder of the angular incline in what would have been a long and painful trip, then hastily drops down the next one before he can reconsider whether this idea really was the best option they had available to them.

At the bottom now, Johnny is left staring up at the cat door, mentally working out the mechanics of how to get them through it - it's not too high up and it can't be that heavy, maybe Daniel can sort of push it open enough for him to scrabble through, and then he can hold it open for Daniel - and then what? Hopefully escape, maybe into another, safer dream. That would be nice, if things would actually work out.

"Okay," he says slowly. "I think we can do this."

He steps forward and stands on his toes, pushing at the flap with his hand. It budges slightly, Daniel will likely have an easier time with his stature and strength, so hey.

"Yeah," he says, and turns back to Daniel, smiling optimistically. "Yeah, so-"

Behind him, the flap lifts up and clocks him in the back of the head. He staggers forward and falls onto his knees, winded. He grunts, baffled and annoyed, and then freezes, staring at the floor, as a huff of warm breath pours over the back of his neck.

He looks up, very slowly, at Daniel. There is something behind him, something big and possibly predatory, but he can't move or speak, so he just stares, eyes wide and demanding what the fuck is that.

He almost can't believe their luck in reaching the cat flap unaccosted, and Johnny's able to shift it a little which means that together they can probably shove the thing open long enough to escape. Of course, that should have been Daniel's first clue that things are going too well at this point. Because the Rift's modus operandi tends toward progressively making things worse and oh my god the flap is moving the flap is moving and something is coming through it.

He reaches instinctively for Johnny when the other man almost faceplants, but the impulse to help him to his feet stills into paralyzed, awed horror at the colossus unraveling itself from the flap in a slow, graceful spill, crowned with tufted ears, complete with paws that plant themselves behind Johnny's quadrupedal form in noiseless menace. Distantly, clinically, ridiculously, Daniel takes dazed note of the wispy quality of its fur, of the thick ruffed fur at its neck that informs him that this, in fact, a kitten. It is a kitten and it towers over them, over him, over Johnny who doesn't look like he dares to move, and Daniel gulps hard when he realizes he's managed to overlook the most obvious, directly terrifying thing about their monstrous visitor.

Its eyes.

They stare unblinkingly at him - or at least, he thinks they do, because he can't tell, because they're apparently without iris or pupil, simply milky white sclera limned with a pale, otherwordly glow.

It's right in front of him. It's right above Johnny.

Daniel swallows again, and then, slowly and deliberately and idiotically, raises a hand. And waves.

"Hi," he says weakly, and the word breaks halfway.

Naughty little creatures, trying to escape the dream. Isn't this a fun dream the Rift has made for them? Full of holiday cheer and everything, and they want to leave? Rude.

The kitten quite enjoys being this size. Sure, size doesn't matter when it's interacting with them in the physical space, due to it not being particularly bound to that world, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't be nice to sometimes be a bit, yanno, awe inspiring. Creepy, sure, that's easy, but not always that threatening. So this is pretty great.

'Hellooo there, Danny,' it answers in a sing-song voice which might seem like it comes from the direction of the cat, but not so much because they actually hear it, rather that, well, where else would it come from? 'And Johnny, of course.' The cat looks down at the back of Johnny's head.

What the fuck? Daniel is talking to whatever it is, is that really-

-but then it answers back.

Johnny goes cold, not just from the blast of outside winter fucking air, but from the voice, resonating in him, in the house, everywhere. This is deep blood-and-bone chill. He can't make himself turn around, and he doesn't really need to, because in a moment he realizes it's standing right over him, treelike front legs flanking him on either side, fluffy with white and grey, ending in paws that would be dainty if it were scaled to him.

He thinks it's a cat. He's not sure how he knows that precisely, he's too freaked and too small to identify that from terrifyingly monstrous paws in his periphery, but somehow he just senses it. Cat. But obviously not a regular cat.

Finally, breath coming shallow, head still pounding from the blow, he twists his neck to look up.

"Fuck," he breathes.

Oh god, and it talks. Excellent. Good. Well. At least. At least that means communication is an option, right? Diplomacy, negotiation, all things that land squarely in Daniel's area of expertise. Giant telepathic cats aren't even a first anymore, even if this one only sounds friendly in way a spider is friendly as it caresses a fly. His eyes flutter down to Johnny, then back up to the thing's broad, white-eyed face. How does the cat know their names? The purring, visceral voice that creeps calmly along the back of his head feels horribly intimate, hushed in that chilling, knowing sibilance.

Daniel forces himself to breathe, in and out, eyes flicking back down at Johnny in a look he sincerely hopes comes across as reassuring. Then he takes a tiny step back, raises both hands in a gesture of pacification. It doesn't look violent, which is good. Which is - probably good.

"Hi," he repeats. A small frown puzzles the look of trepidation, but his voice is mostly steady. Mostly. "How, um. How do you know our names?"

What a strange question. The kitten plunks its not-so-little bottom down on the floor, effectively blocking the cat flap - not that either of the little dreamers is in a position to leave. Johnny in particular.

I know all my toys, it replies. 'Obviously' is implied. It looks down at Johnny, then favors him with a fond lick, its tongue like a hot, damp bristle comb running from the nape of his neck to the top of his head, leaving his hair in disarray. Tasty! it observes.

Toys, and the smug way it's - well, not uttered, but whatever - sends a little shiver down Johnny's spine, and he's debating his capacity to scramble out from under the possessive creature when it bends down and licks him.

A sound escapes him, formless and not quite a scream, too surprised and half-strangled to be that. The sudden weight of its rough, sandpapery tongue pushes him down, stinging his skin, mussing the fuck out of his hair, but all that discomfort is second to the utter terror. He's frozen apart from involuntary trembling, hands braced on the floor, the kitten's breath hot on his wet skin. Its little observation jolts him into motion, flipping onto his back as if seeing it will help him fend off any attempt to eat him.

"What the fuck," he gasps, breathless, nowhere near enough fight in him to make it as indignant as it should be. He makes a cursory attempt to squirm away, unable to pull his eyes from its big blank glowing stare.

Toys? That's - this is what they are to it. Boxed, packaged, kept, its gifts to itself.

And then it - it moves on Johnny, a motion deceptively friendly, predatory and invasive, and Daniel takes an impulsive step forward, one hand outstretched, before he freezes. What can he do? Johnny's firmly trapped by the thing, and it's not demonstrating any great eagerness to release him.

"Let him go?" he says. The uncertainty, the writhing dread starting to work its way up his chest, makes it sound like a request. He swallows thickly and tries again, forcing trembling authority into the words. "Let him go."

As if it would let a tiny little toy boss it around. Who does Daniel think is in charge, here? The kitten stares at him for a moment through inscrutable pearly eyes. Then, with casual, deliberate contrariness, it settles down on top of Johnny. Its furry chest pins his legs to the floor, and while that would probably be enough to keep him from going anywhere, the kitten plants a possessive paw on the dreamer's chest, as well. My, but his little heart is beating so quickly.

Shan't, the kitten says, the good humor in its tone like a thin layer of ice sparkling over something deep, dark and dangerous. He's mine. But it seems he's forgotten that, this impudent little house-bender. He smells like defiance and sneakiness. But it's all right; there are ways to fix that.

The kitten settles itself a bit more heavily atop Johnny, claws extended just enough to snag at his clothing. Then, it resumes licking him, brisk and businesslike. There's only so much of Johnny it can reach with his legs pinned, but the kitten is thorough. Its rough tongue rakes through his hair and hikes up his shirt until it's jammed beneath his arms and around his neck like an absurd collar.

This is better. Now Johnny smells like it. A rumbling purr fills the entryway as the kitten continues its not-so-tender ministrations.

Johnny barely even hears Daniel, though some distant part of him might appreciate the effort, when cutting and running would seem like the better move. When the kitten settles on his legs he jolts and tries to wriggle free, and he might have been able to if the paw hadn't then come down on his chest, one of its little toe pads resting on his sternum, gently pushing the air out of him. He gasps, half a whimper, and braces his hands against its paw, fighting against it. Its weight is overpowering; he can't gain an inch, no matter how hard he struggles, and the effort is exhausting.

When its claws extend he goes rigid, reduced to fearful twitches, staring at the sharp needle points that could tear him apart in seconds.

And then it's licking him again, grooming him with a tongue bigger than his fucking head, pulling at his hair, dragging his shirt up - he can't keep still now, writhing and twisting in a completely useless effort to evade it as it laps at his chest and his face. "Stop it!" he begs between grunts and gasps, the protest coming automatically - he knows it won't ~~do a lick of good~~ make any fucking difference. He raises his arms to cover his face, hands open, unwilling to actually grapple with its mouth full of teeth. "Daniel!" he cries over the deafening roar of its purring. Daniel should run, try to get somewhere, but Johnny's too panicked and too desperate to act rationally or nobly. "Daniel, help me!"

For an awful minute they both stiffen as the kitten simply drops on top of Johnny and starts - oh, god. Daniel winces with each audible rasp of the tongue. He can feel the purring in the air, in the base of his chest, permeating the entirety of the house itself.

This is - well, shit. Reasoning with it isn't going to work. Talking to it isn't going to work. That leaves running, which isn't an option Daniel's going to entertain while Johnny's pinned by the thing's claws, and - trying to take the thing by force. The very large thing that is acting with complete self-assurance and possession. They're barely four inches tall, and the kitten is a giant.

Then Johnny yells.

One hand flies out, completely instinctual, palm out and placating, and something blocky and heavy manifests there. He dimly registers it for what it is - a stapler of all things - and in a burst of reactionary, defensive energy, Daniel wings it at one of the kitten's milky eyes.

The kitten's reflexes are quick enough to avoid being hit in the eye, but not quick enough to avoid being hit entirely. The stapler bounces off of its forehead, and it hisses in objection, claws reflexively digging into Johnny's chest. It releases him a moment later, the better to clamber right over him and swing a paw at Daniel. You are bad toys!

Johnny can't quite scream when the claws cut into him, too startled and too breathless to really make much of a sound - more of a gasp, really, his body seizing up in pain. Then it's gone, lifted off him, gone after Daniel. He's not even sure what's happened, what Daniel did, and he can't concentrate on it. He curls onto his side, pressing his arm to his chest, struggling to pull his shirt down. His skin is sticky with saliva and blood; the cuts aren't too deep, but they hurt like hell. He can't hear what's going on, his heart pounding in his ears; for a minute he thinks he's going to throw up. He stays put, quivering, trying to regulate his breathing, until finally he manages to look up, lifting his head to get a fix on Daniel.

He doesn't know what he expected when he threw the stapler; he just hoped that it would do something. Which it did, which was excellent up until the point that the kitten started swatting at him instead.

The massive paw comes whooshing at him and he gets half a second to contemplate his poor decision-making before he throws himself forward to avoid the blow, reduced to half-crawling and attempting to flail to his feet. If he can just - re-coordinate and -

He manages it between gasps, darts between the giant thing's legs, heading straight for Johnny. He isn't moving, he isn't running, and this is definitely a situation, yep, they are definitely going to have to handle this. Where can they even go? The cat flap? Can the two of them even lift it? How bad did it scratch Johnny oh god did it - ?

See, questions like those aren't really helping.

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Better to Receive than to Give [open to all]

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