applesaucedream | Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

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Current Music: January 26, 2013 (backdated)

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Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

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!]

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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.

"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.

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.

"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?"

Edited 2013-03-23 22:19 (UTC)

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?"

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."

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.

"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.

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.

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."

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.

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."

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."

"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...."

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.

It's getting dark, does that mean they're going back into an unpleasant memory? Peter tenses, looking around sharply at his surroundings. When he sees it's a club and that the floor isn't littered with corpses he sinks back into his seat and actually has a look at Lucy.

"Yeah," he says, reaching out to fiddle with her neckline. "Like that. Now we just need the pyrotechnics."

"Not sure I like it," she answers, considering it. She's not going to set anything on fire, though. She's not very comfortable around open flames. Only so many things you can watch your husband burn down with people still inside and still be okay with big fires.

"It suits you better," she adds. There's just something so.. flamboyant, perhaps, that she doesn't quite feel comfortable in. She's more of a conventional dresser, left to her own devices.

Peter pouts, withdrawing his hand. "You didn't get to see my new jacket," he says suddenly. It's a pretty nice jacket, he thinks, though he hasn't had much opportunity to show it off to anyone but the punters. Dressing more like he used to -- and less like an unwashed hobo -- makes him feel a little prouder than he did.

"So that's what you spent all your money on?" she asks with a smile. Typical. Oh well, it's his money. She doesn't really mind spending some of her own money on him. She's been doing fairly well for herself. And she's been shopping for clothes too, so she can actually wear things she feels good in.

"I'm a performer -- I have to keep up appearances." And he just felt like he deserved something nice. "It looks good on me," he says, as if that justifies spending the last of his allowance on it, to the point where he hasn't even been able to buy food.

Lucy shakes her head in fond exasparation. "You can show me later, when I come over with take-out," she promises. She seems to be doing this more and more often. But it's nice to have some company that's neither boring nor too demanding. She's still not entirely lucid, or sure this is actually Peter, but it doesn't particularly matter.

"Oh, so you are coming over?" he asks, as if she's been remiss in some duty by not feeding him more regularly. "I might have to think about cleaning the place up."

Yeah, right.

Lucy grins. "That'll be the day," she answers with amusement. She has not stooped to the level of cleaning out his apartment. She did take out his trash when she was already taking out her own, but that's as far as she was going.

"The maid service in this building is terrible," says Peter. "I'm thinking of lodging a complaint." Which would be the umpteenth complaint he's made, formally or no.

"Since when do you stop to think before complaning? And there is no maid service," Lucy points out. "Unless you mean me, which I truly hope you don't, because I might have to smack you." The threat is obviously not a very serious one, given the smile on her face.

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