Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

[fucking_ebay]

Peter's having a fairly ordinary dream -- that is, he's onstage in front of an audience, doing his old Vegas show in the nude, and none of the fire effects are working. He's not actually bothered by the nudity, which his dreaming mind seems to think is just part of the act, but he keeps getting confused about what part they're on. He hasn't rehearsed in weeks, and he's stumbling through all his lines and illusions.

Around the time the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino (TM) melts away to be replaced by Central Park, Peter's remembered that he doesn't live in Vegas anymore, and his befuddled mind is well on its way to working out that he's dreaming. He doesn't get a chance to come to his senses and enjoy his shot at lucid dreaming, though, before something goes terribly wrong. This time as the backdrop melts away, there's nothing to replace it. He feels himself being pulled, drawn away somehow -- and, helpless to resist, his sleeping mind is sent spinning off into the ether of the Dreaming. Flailing at nothing, he's carried away -- until, of course, he collides with another mind and finds himself in another person's dream.


[OOC: Peter's been carried off like a twig in a river -- and he's going to smack into a few rocks other minds before the night's through. He can still be naked for the first one if desired. Have at!]

Comments

[essentiallyharmless]

"There's no door," she points out, reaching up with her other hand to brush away some of his hair. Her hands are still stained with blood from falling on the floor. "There's never a way out." She seems quite different from the Lucy that Peter's used to. Not just the differences in her appearance, but she's much more distant, disconnected, with a lost look in her eyes, rather than the more self-assured look she usually wears while around him. She still feels like this on the inside quite often.

[fucking_ebay]

"It's your dream," protests Peter. He shudders a little as he feels her hand leave something wet on his head where she touches him, and deliberately doesn't look down at their hands. It's a dream, he repeats to himself silently. Only a dream, only a dream.

[essentiallyharmless]

"What?" she asks, confused. The words don't seem to quite reach her. It's fairly obvious she's not as lucid as he is, or lucid at all, quite yet. She's still taking things for granted, but at least it's less of a nightmare now.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter lets out a wordless sound of frustration, rolling his head back in exasperation. He grips her hand tightly and looks her in the eye. "You're dreaming," he tells her firmly. "And I'm caught in it, so you'd better clear that little head of yours pronto."

[essentiallyharmless]

The words seem to penetrate slightly more effectively this time. She looks around the room and - of course, this never happened. They never had such a bloodbath up here - not a literal one, anyway. And why would Peter be here? A dream, then. She's still a little stuck in the mindset of back then, however.

She pulls her hands back from Peter, then unlocks the door to the cage and pulls it open. Never mind that there wasn't a door there a moment ago - of course there would be a door.

[fucking_ebay]

Of course there is. Peter lets out a sigh of relief as he slips through the open doorway. He gives Lucy an uneasy look that morphs into one of preemptive embarrassment -- and then he reaches out and tugs her into a brief hug, giving her shoulders just one good squeeze before letting her go again.

He pulls back and clears his throat. "Alright now?"

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy's very surprised by the hug, but in a good way. While she may be more aware that this is a dream, she hasn't quite caught on that Peter's not just a figment of her imagination. Stll, she appreciates it nonetheless.

The bodies and the blood seem to be gone now, from Lucy's hands as well, and the bruises have faded away during the hug. She's gotten distracted by more pleasant, recent memories, rather than dwelling so heavily on the past.

"Alright now," she affirms and smiles a bit.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter rubs her shoulder, gives it a pat, and lets her go. "That's more like it. Now how about we get out of here, go somewhere nicer?" And lacking in corpses, though at least those seem to be gone now. And, hopefully, lacking in her crazy ex-husband, who Peter is still afraid might come back.

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy considers for a moment, then takes Peter's hand and leads him through the room and out the doors. When they go through them, they step out onto a warm and sunny lawn, the doors disappearing behind them.

They're in the garden of Lucy's favourite summer houses by the beach. There's a rather respectable looking house behind them - not a gigantic mansion, but certainly a lovely country house. Beyond the garden are cliffs overlooking the beach and the ocean, with the sound of the waves hitting the shore.

Lucy's now wearing a bright and airy summer dress instead, barefeet in the wet grass, and her mind has given Peter something matching, now he's distinctly Peter rather than confused with the Doctor.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter draws in a deep breath, letting himself relax as they step out into the sunshine. The clothes she's put him in are much too summery, but almost anything is better than being dressed as the Doctor. He squints in the sunlight, lifting his free hand to shade his eyes.

"Much better," he tells her, not really sure if she's quite 'woken up' yet. He's relieved -- when he arrived, he was sure he'd be trapped in her nightmare, but now...

...now everything is peaceful. The more he learns about Lucy, the more he feels he was right in his inital assessment of her as a nutjob. The better he gets to know her, though, the more he finds himself caring despite how he'd never meant them to be anything more than fuckbuddies.

[essentiallyharmless]

"This is where I spent my summers," she tells him, walking over to a swing bench and sitting down on it, watching some pinwheels spinning in the breeze.

And a nutjob probably isn't the most inaccurate description of her. Mental stability hasn't been her strong suit for quite a few years. So it's not that surprising that she can change this quickly with some positive input, but it also means she can change for the worse as well.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter slides onto the swing beside her, though he doesn't sit close enough to touch this time.

"When you were a kid?" he asks, deciding not to bring up where he spent his summers as a child. Focusing on the potentially positive here, as difficult as that is for him -- he's all too aware that this is Lucy's mind, and anything that upsets her could end badly for the both of them.

[essentiallyharmless]

She nods, lifting her legs to give the swing a slight boost. "I've always liked the beach. The sound of it. Going swimming. My boarding school was by the beach too," she tells him, leaning her head against the chain holding up the swing.

[fucking_ebay]

"Holiday towns," muses Peter, gazing out at the ocean. "Spent a few summers by the beach after I left school." Because tourists wanted to see magic, naturally. Or at least, they were more open to it. It had sort of clashed with his general image, though.

[essentiallyharmless]

"You left school?" she asks, not expecting that, but not all that surprised when she considers it. He could just mean when he finished school, of course. But given the prestigious, expensive schools she went to, she's not used to the notion of people just leaving school. She knows his parents are dead and that he grew up in foster care, so of course his life would be rather different than hers, but it's difficult for her to imagine.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Had other things to do." It had all seemed terribly important back then -- adults haranguing him to finish, the need to move on with his life. Now it seemed so small. He'd barely had any left to go, actually; he could have finished if he'd just stuck around another year. Sometimes he'd regretted that, though hanging his honorary LVSU diploma had made him feel a bit better.

[essentiallyharmless]

"I didn't," she answers, which might be kind of depressing too, in a different way. "Got a bachelor in Italian language, literature and culture from St Andrews." Not that she needed to, or has had any practical use for it. It was just the thing to do. She hadn't particularly minded - it was interesting. But sometimes she wishes she'd done something more with her life.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter shakes his head, chuckling ruefully. St. Andrews. It figured. "Use that often?" he asks, amused. It's something of a mean question, he knows.

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy smiles at him, seeing the amusement of it rather than the meanness. "Not really," she admits. "Except when I'm in Italy. But I haven't been for years," she adds sadly. Not so much out of choice as out of simply being unable to. That trend is keeping up.

[fucking_ebay]

"Plenty of Italians in New York, aren't there?" asks Peter, still amused. "I'm sure they'd love it if you walked in and started speaking the mother tongue at them in their...delis. Whatever Italians run in New York."

[essentiallyharmless]

"Pizza restaurants?" Lucy suggests, smiling. She's used to Peter taking the mickey, and as long as it's not mean-spirited or about a particularly sore subject, she doesn't mind. And she doesn't really know anything about the Italian community in New York anyway. "Non dovrebbe essere così denigratorio, Peter," she adds in fluent Italian.

[You shouldn't be so disparaging, Peter.]

[fucking_ebay]

Peter snorts. "Pizza -- yeah, and they all go home to hang their washing out on the lines strung between the buildings." Just going off whatever stereotypes he can dredge up, here. His attention focuses on her when she speaks to him in Italian in a way it hasn't been for much of this conversation, but the look he gives her is a wary one -- she could be saying anything. "Non dovrobby to you, too," he says.

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy laughs at Peter's wary look and terribly copying of what she said. "I told you not to be so disparaging," she explains with amusement. "You never had any particular interest in language, then?" she asks.

[fucking_ebay]

"Not really my area. I do my reading in translation, thanks." It had been hard enough getting rid of his accent (to the extent that he'd even managed that) -- a Scottish master of darkness simply didn't work. Of course, this had meant that tracking down -- or commissioning -- versions of certain texts he could actually read had been something of a difficulty.

[essentiallyharmless]

Well, if he ever needs a translator for Italian, he knows who to call. "Just enough interest to change your accent, then?" she asks with a smile, having just been thinking about it herself. It's a while since she'd noticed it, but she'd never really brought it up.