applesaucedream | 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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

"They've stopped answering my calls," chuckles Peter. "I have to go make my complaints in person, use up my valuable time."

He grins. "I won't say it, then."

Lucy grins and throws a coaster at him. It seemed like an appropriate reaction.

"You do realise you don't pay them and have no legal claim to anything at all, so you have no right to complain?" she points out. "Use your valuable time for more useful things."

Peter flails, trying to hit it out of the air, but it strikes him on the ear anyhow. "They recruited me!" he protests. "They made promises!"

"And have you done anything in return for them, besides letting them write down your name?" she asks with amusement. Not that she has either, but she isn't the one complaining.

"Fuck no!" replies Peter, quite pleased with the answer. "Wasn't part of the deal."

Lucy rolls her eyes. "Is it ironic that you're the one who feels all entitled to all this, when I'm the one who never had to work for a living?" she asks. You'd think she'd be the one who was spoiled.

Her makeup seems to be fading away slowly, her clothing less extravagant, returning gradually to something more her usual style, now she's not really thinking about it anymore.

"I worked my arse off so I wouldn't have to work my arse off anymore. I'm not doing it again." This argument has seen him through thus far, though lately...well, he's been questioning it. Only a little, but...well, it's getting harder to pretend that he's going to somehow go back to his old life one of these days.

"Well, it's your downfall," Lucy comments with a shrug, reaching over to pick up her drink and take a sip. Clearly that drink has been there the entire time, right? Never mind that it wasn't until a moment ago when she decided she should have one. Dreamworld are convenient like that.

Peter reaches for his own drink, realizing he ought to have one -- and his hand closes on air. He scowls at the empty table, trying to will a drink into existence, but no dice. "It's not my fault I'm here," he argues. "My 'downfall' was coming through the rift, and that had nothing to do with anything I did."

"Well, it's no use moaning about it. Strength isn't never to fall, but to get back up again when you do," Lucy says, though she realises she sounds like a fortune cookie. Lucy having realised Peter wanted a drink too, shortly after a waiter brings him one.

"I'm thirty-six," lies Peter. "I'm too old to start over. No one here's ever heard of me; there's just...there's nothing for me to build on."

And he's not so sure audiences will fall for his particular line of bullshit on the second try.

It's hard to tell whether Lucy buys his lie, or if she simply doesn't call him on it to not injure his pride. He does look good for... well, whatever age he is.

"And what about me? I don't even have any useful skills," she argues. Not completely true, but she never really had to get a job purely on merit. And she has no credentials here.

Maybe age isn't as easy to spot as his attempts to hide his accent. At least he didn't try for a big lie -- what's three years, more or less?

"Yeah, but you're...." Peter frowns, not knowing what he was going to say. "What are you doing with yourself?"

Well, people age differently. Of course, it means he looks old for 36 rather than young for 39. Which is worse?

"Pickpocketing," she admits. Well, she had to get the money from somewhere. "Mostly from people who look like they can afford it. Or who deserve it." It's like she's Robin Hooding. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor. Well, one poor person in particular, really, but it still counts.

Considering how poorly he takes care of himself, it's amazing he looks like he's in his thirties at all.

Two poor people? Counting both herself and Peter, of course. He gives a little nod, having heard about this before. "You should come work with me like you said you would. Haven't seen old Gabriel out there for a while; should be fine."

Lucy nods, taking another sip of her drink. "To relieve people of their cash, or are you once again trying to recruit me as an assistant?"

She doesn't well on stages. She managed well enough during her husband's campaign, but she didn't have to be all flashy and theatrical then.

"Not a lot I can do with an assistant," admits Peter thoughtfully. Assistants are better for bigger illusions, where they can serve as distractions. "I meant steal things. And then share them with me."

Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

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