applesaucedream | Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

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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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With a sigh Peter slumps in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the (still bare) ankles. He lets out a rueful chuckle. "Plan?"

Gabriel chuckles to match, leaning forward to set an elbow on the table. As he speaks, he rests his chin in the palm of his hand and turns to look out at the milling crowd. "You might want to give it some thought."

Peter shrugs. "I get by alright." Wanting to change the subject, he squints at the people and asks, "Where's this supposed to be, anyway?"

Gabriel grins, happily letting Peter steer the conversation away from the previous topic. "Rio! Nineteen ninety-seven. Carnival is two weeks away. You can feel the anticipation."

The atmosphere of the city is a little excited, a little tense, awaiting the big parties that will crop up in the following weeks. For this moment, everyone that isn't furiously preparing is stuck in an excited limbo. It's a nice mirror for how Gabriel feels about being stuck in New York. He keeps waiting for a big reveal that he's not sure will ever come.

That, and the weather is excellent.

Peter makes a face. "Ooh, the nineties, why the nineties?"

If anything in particular happened in Rio in 1997, Peter doesn't know the first thing about it. He's never been -- his career really took off in America, and that's where he's done most of his work and where he's spent most of his adult life.

"Ricky Martin on a parade float surrounded by gorgeous samba dancers? Come on." You are not allowed to judge him for this, Peter.

He chuckles and throws a glance in Peter's direction. "I was here. This is a memory." So, no, nothing in particular happened in Rio in 1997. That is, unless you count the odd grouping of bizarre deaths that just so happened to coincide with his visit.

"Ricky Martin?" Peter lifts an eyebrow, very much judging him for this. He tries to think where he was in 1997. Probably working in a bar or a comedy club, he thinks. He banishes the memory as quickly as he can when he realizes it might bleed through to Gabriel. "Just here to party?" he asks.

"Livin' la vida loca, my friend." He shoots Peter a wide grin and sits back in his chair, grabbing the last of the tacos as he goes.

He shoves the last taco into his mouth and lets out a pleased groan as he chews. "Mm! Well, I'm here for the atmosphere today." ...which doesn't really answer what he was doing here in the actual 1997, but he probably wouldn't tell the truth if asked directly, either.

"You pick your dreams, then," observes Peter, expression souring. That shouldn't come as a surprise to him, but he hadn't really thought about it.

Aw, and they were getting along so well. "You wouldn't like what shows up on shuffle." And that's about most honest thing he's ever said to you, Peter. Congratulations.

Peter frowns, spurred into thinking for the first time about what else goes on in Gabriel's life besides harassing Peter. Then he dismisses the thought in favor of something more relevant to his own interests and needs.

"How do you do it?" he asks.

"I've got skills. You saw me recreate a room from your memory, in broad daylight, and you're wondering how I threw this together?" He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Dreams are easy-peasy."

"I do remember," mutters Peter. He gives Gabriel an exasperated look and asks, "Fine, but how do I do it?"

"You can't." he says, not unkindly. "Sure, I guess there are some techniques people use...meditation's a biggie, but you don't really seem the type."

He shrugs, "Short of having me in your bed every night, there's really not much you can do about it." He could do that, be there to act as referee to Peter's dream state, but he can't see Peter agreeing to Gabriel taking up residence in his sleeping world for the sake of a few good dreams. "I like you, but I think every night would be a bit much, don't you?"

Peter's hurt despite himself by Gabriel's apparent refusal to share his technique. "Believe it or not, I don't actually want you in my head," he says firmly at the offer -- god, Gabriel had better not be serious with that. "If you don't want to help, you can just fucking say so."

"Okay, not your head, but what about your bed?" He smirks, but sighs when the joke doesn't land. "I'm not human, genius. You haven't figured that out by now?"

It's probably worth noting that Peter's objection actually wasn't to having Gabriel in his bed. He's not interested, for several reasons, but it's his mind he's worried about, not his virtue.

His eyes widen and he draws up out of his slouch without thinking about it, pulling his feet under him and bracing his hands on the arm rests of the plastic chair as if getting ready to bolt. He stays seated, though, just staring at Gabriel as his mind races back through their past conversations for hints. Not a vampire, he thinks, clinging to the conclusion as he reminds himself that he met Gabriel in full sunlight. There's (almost) no question in his mind about whether Gabriel's being honest; after all the things he's seen here, he's quite ready to believe in the inhumanity of other rifties.

"What are you?" he asks sharply, going straight to the point.

"Demi-god." People seem to be more comfortable with the demi part shoved in there, but the truth is he's closer to a god than anything that might be considered human. "They used to call me Loki."

Peter thinks about this for several long moments, weighing the likelihood that Gabriel is bullshitting him against the likelihood that Gabriel might smite him (or...do whatever it is Loki's supposed to do). He comes to a decision after brief but serious consideration.

"Fuck off -- what are you really?"

Gabriel grins back at Peter, thinking he knew there was a reason he liked him. His scepticism is well placed. That doesn't mean, however, that Gabriel is even going to consider telling him the truth.

"May Odin strike me down if it isn't true." And, well, if Odin wasn't dead. And kind of lazy before that. You know what? It's the sentiment that matters here. "Why, what do you think I am?"

"A liar," says Peter firmly, because it makes him feel better. He's not sure, though -- if Gabriel isn't what he says, what is he? And how worried should Peter be about being in Gabriel's dream?

Mildly worried? Gabriel doesn't have it out for Peter, but he does have an awful lot of control in this space.

He tilts his head to the side, considering that one, then regains his posture and points a finger at Peter. "I'll give ya that. I am a fantastic liar. I practically invented bullshitting."

"Do I need to explain the Loki thing?" He sighs, briefly, for effect. "Kids. They never know the classics these days. It's sad." He lifts his eyebrows and tilts his chin down, his expression condescending. "They don't call me the trickster for nothin', ya know. Tricks, illusions, that's sort of my gimmick."

"I know who Loki is," grumbles Peter -- is Gabriel seriously questioning his knowledge of the occult and mythical that much? "Even people who know fuck-all know about Loki," he continues. "You're just not him. You're full of shit, you know that?"

You might be surprised how many people don't know who Loki is. The confluence of people from different universes is hell on making references. "It's true...a lot of the stories aren't true. It gets muddled after a while."

He chuckles, completely ignoring Peter's anger. "Though I did convince Thor to crossdress. Dumb as a box of hammers, but he made a hot woman. Of course, I have tricks for that too." In that moment, the image of Gabriel flickers out, replaced by a leggy brunette in a bikini. When he speaks, the voice has changed as well, but the smirk is exactly the same. "Good, right?"

Peter starts, but once he sees what's happened his eyes rove up and down Gabriel's new form more or less automatically. He glowers at Gabriel...or, rather, at the brunette's cleavage. "You're not convincing me," he says stiffly. "You're probably just some idiot who got a few powers off the rift."

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