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]

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.

[fucking_ebay]

"I don't have an accent," grouses Peter. She wasn't supposed to notice. The Americans (almost) never noticed. "I'm...dark, and mysterious. There's a certain way you have to sound, you realize that?"

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy raises her eyebrows at him in amusement. While she can appreciate and believe he was a talented and popular magician, she has trouble really imagining him being "dark and mysterious". He's too much of a ridiculous prat for her to take him seriously like that, although a lovable one, at least.

"Alright, I grant you, the Scottish doesn't really blend with the whole magician image," she answers, smiling. "Where are you from?"

[fucking_ebay]

Peter sighs. There's a reason he didn't go into this stuff in the information about himself he used to put online. It's hard to come off as a master of darkness if people figure out you're from....

"Bathgate. Originally. And no, it really doesn't."

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy has never really seen Peter as that, being introduced to him as a person rather than a stage persona. Sure, he's got the sort of goth-y style, but beyond that...

"That's... near Edinburgh, isn't it?" she asks, frowning. She might have driven through at some point, but it doesn't really stand out in her mind. "I suppose there's more of a market for it in Vegas than here." By here she of course means the UK, since they are currently by an English beach.

[fucking_ebay]

"Bout halfway between there and Glasgow," confirms Peter. He shrugs. "You can make a bit off the tourists, but...it's not really the right setting for vampires and all that shit. Couldn't stick around these places if I wanted to get serious."

What might she think of him if she did see the stage version of Peter Vincent now? It's money holding him back, not any loss of the skill or showmanship that took him there.

[essentiallyharmless]

Honestly? She's probably laugh - or try not to. It's not really her thing, that cheesy Vegas magic. Not that she judges him for it, she just can't really appreciate it properly. She's curious though.

"What's your show like? You know, when it's serious," she asks. Busking in the park or the subway probably isn't the best way to show off his talent.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter would have her know it's not cheesy in the slightest. His invitation for people to come swim in his mind is very serious business.

"Somewhere between the dream state and the state of ecstasy," says Peter immediately. Amazingly, he can keep a straight face as he says it. "I got fantastic press."

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy barely manages to keep a straight face (except not really) at him just saying that, so it's probably best she can't see the show.

"I'm not sure it's really my thing," she admits, suppressing a smile.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter's facade breaks down, and he chuckles. "It's a load of bullshit," he admits. "But it's good bullshit. Very professional, very stylish. You should've seen it."

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy smiles in relief that he doesn't take it that seriously. "I'm sure it's very impressive," she answers honestly - if he did headline in Vegas, it probably had to be. Even if it's bullshit. "Although I'm not sure we agree on what's stylish either. I don't think your style would look good on me."

[fucking_ebay]

"You could be one of the assistants," suggests Peter. He stops short, though, of suggesting the specific role that springs to mind -- that is, Ginger's old role. "Fangs, flowing gown, cleavage...."

[essentiallyharmless]

Lucy considers this thoughtfully, imagining it. And with her imagining, their surroundings change. They're now sitting in a booth at the back of some darkened club, probably one she remembers from London. Peter's clothes have changed to something his more usual style, and Lucy's have changed to... well, not her style.

She tried to imagine what he meant. There's no fangs, but there's definitely flowing gown and cleavage, with corset and all. And eyeliner. The paleness works in her favour here, all very goth-looking. She doesn't look convinced, though. Sexy, but very much not her style. And this being her dream, she doesn't need a mirror to know what she looks like.