Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Hello, dreamers of Manhattan. The Rift knows that things have been kind of rough, lately. The last dream didn't go as well as it had hoped. Consider this an apology of sorts, and a hearkening back to the good times you've shared.

It's a grand old (and potentially familiar) cabin house that the dreamers will find themselves wandering. The furniture is plentiful and comfortable, the floors are strewn with cushions and blankets, and there are cheerful fires burning in the grates. It seems a little odd that the house still manages to be on the chilly side despite looking so warm, yet it is.

Oh, well. You'll just have to find another dreamer or two and spoon up and fall asleep like little baby cats get cozy. It shouldn't be difficult; most of the dreamers (excepting those with strong telepathic defenses or deeply ingrained cuddle-averse personalities) will find themselves feeling friendlier than usual, along with an almost overwhelming desire to snuggle up to someone. How convenient that the house seems designed for that very purpose!

And if some of the cushions are Hello Kitty themed, well, that's just coincidence.


[OOC: Standard dream party rules apply. Characters will be affected by the dream-whammy to whatever degree makes the most sense for them, and will remember or forget the events of the dream at the player's discretion. Backtag into infinity.]

Comments

Ohhh Johnny

[fucking_ebay]

Peter doesn't recognize him until he looks up, but he doesn't share in the giggling. His stomach turns and he wraps his arms around himself, scowling down at the man hogging all those blankets. "Oh, stuff it," he snaps. Johnny Rabbit Man didn't have to laugh at him; it was an honest mistake.

He should go. He didn't mean to ask him for a cuddle, of all people. Somehow Peter's feet stay rooted to the spot, though, even as he looks toward the door as if hoping he can see a more desirable couch partner in the next room. "It's just cold, alright?"

It's more than the cold, though. Peter wants to crawl in -- and so, in a fit of contrariness, he suddenly does. "Budge up," he says as he all but pushes Johnny to the side to make room for himself and plants his skinny rear next to the other man. "And give me some of those blankets."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"That is, technically, a possibility, but it's immensely unlikely."

Lucifer is unfazed by Daniel's challenge; he sees it less as an equal intellectual critique and more like a scared child stubbornly yelling 'no' because he doesn't like the answer. Stubborn children might be annoying, but they must be forgiven their outbursts because they simply don't know any better.

"Pardon me if I'd prefer to play to the odds."

[peacefulexplorer]

"Hang on, let me - you, you think it's more likely that our meeting was orchestrated by fate than the idea that it wasn't?" His eyebrows climb up, skepticism mounting as he eyes the Devil even more dubiously than before. "I, I take it fate was kind of a bigger force in your universe than it was in mine, then."

Which, according to infinite universe theory - all right, fine, he's one of the first to concede that anything is possible. But this universe has its own set of laws, some that defy physics and some that simply go beyond it, and to what extent destiny plays into those rules here is more or less undefinable from Daniel's standpoint, or anyone's.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"You're quick to ascribe divine inspiration."

After all, fate is a power or agency that predetermines set events, making them unavoidable, in adherence to natural order-- that agency generally being a deity of one form or another.

"That being said, yes, fate played a role in my universe, in a manner of speaking. My Father's orders are inevitable. However, I still don't think that the Rift is a vehicle of fate, just as I don't believe that any outside force acting on me is fate. Not all things are fated, Daniel, and not all fates are immutable."

[peacefulexplorer]

Though Lucifer's was, apparently, if his earlier conversations had any meaning whatsoever; the Devil, fated to be beautiful and fated to fall just the same. Some intricate, divine plan, apparently in place since his universe's conception, made to be immutable.

Was Daniel just the same?

Was he fated? Was he always meant to die in repetition and Ascend without answers, or did fate only ever exist in his universe for as much as those higher-plane beings would define it? Just like Lucifer fell, was Daniel also intended to fall from the ranks of the Ascended, predestined to be cast out for his rebellion before he even knew he was going to be one of them?

He doesn't want to inspect that idea.

"I just don't think we were meant to come into collision," Daniel replies carefully, though visibly unsettled. "I think it happened because I happened to get lost in the park, and Iman happened to find me, and we all happened to converge upon Wilmot's."

Maybe random chance doesn't quite have the ring the Devil is looking for. Daniel's content enough with that explanation, weak an argument as it is.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"And that I can agree with. The manner of our meeting could easily be chalked up to chance. The fact that we are here, in Manhattan, in this universe? That, no."

But, at that point, it doesn't matter if the actual manner of their meeting is scripted or not. The fact that they are all concentrated in Manhattan, combined with Daniel's ability to sense extradimensional beings and his inability to refrain from getting involved and Lucifer's penchant for high-profile violence meant that they would inevitably intersect at some point. No script required-- if something had wanted them to meet, all it had to do was wait and play the odds.

High probability and fate aren't the same thing, but sometimes they could look very similar.

[peacefulexplorer]

Morality, fate, chance - it seems Lucifer is rather big on discussing the appropriately heavy topics. Daniel would be much enthused to as well, provided his partner in conversation was not the literal Devil. As it is, he's more inclined to be incredibly, justifiably suspicious.

"I got dragged into Manhattan during one last mission before I planned on transferring to another galaxy," he explains with a cautious shrug. "It doesn't feel like there was much predestination involved in that." He'd been so intent on finally getting to see Atlantis. Now it seems like he never will. Interdimensional universal barriers are a pretty permanent obstacle, even apparently for beings more supernaturally inclined than him.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"I don't think that the Rift would particularly care if it was convenient for you."

Lucifer got yanked right when he was falling into the Pit, after all, while in the body of his chosen vessel, which is either extremely inconvenient or very convenient depending on whether or not he could manage to return to his home universe in a different location. If he could-- fantastic, than he can avoid that pesky trapped in Hell thing while his brother hangs out in his old prison. That's a poetic justice that even Gabriel should be able to appreciate.

[peacefulexplorer]

"All right," says Daniel, flipping through the book's pages at random with a sort of fervent need to distract himself from being the subject of Satan's interest, a stark kinesic exhibition of his mental unrest. Then, in a movement that manages to be both fluid and stumbling, he grips one arm of the chair and wrests himself to the feet, book sliding from his lap to hit the ground with a dull clunk and the coffee mug soon following in a disordered cascade of spattering liquid and shattering porcelain.

For a minute Daniel stares in complete distress at the mess on the floor of the cabin before looking back at Lucifer, questioning and at an end to himself.

"Whatever it is you want with me," he fights to keep his tone level, the sheer unnerving calm the Devil consistently radiates managing to spook him despite the dream's calming influence, "just tell me and, and be done with it. I can't, I don't -" He scrubs one hand through his hair, at a loss. "I don't know what you want."

[whofrownedthisface]

And there it is, that's better. Well, it was always going to be something like that, wasn't it. The Doctor crosses his arms sullenly, leans against the bricks of the fireplace, now absorbing radiant heat rather than nearly setting his sleeves on fire. He doesn't seem that keen to look at Ianto either, but does so anyway, as though coerced. He had a feeling it was something like this, but that doesn't make it any less strange or unfortunate. What's the protocol for being angry and regretful about something you didn't actually do, but probably would have done, if the opportunity presented itself? "And let me guess. I didn't." He doesn't sound like he needs any confirmation. "Which one was it?"

[wentdowntogeorgia]

My, Daniel makes such a little mess with his outburst; the book on the floor and the mug in splinters and coffee everywhere. It's a little rude, too, to be so unconcerned about it, especially when someone might trod on one of the pieces. Just because it's a dream doesn't mean that it wouldn't hurt to step on a ceramic shard.

Lucifer snaps his fingers and the mug returns to its previous form, whole and full of coffee, balanced on the arm of the chair. The floor is clear and clean.

"I think you're overreacting, Daniel," he says. "There's nothing that I can take from you that I would want."

[peacefulexplorer]

"Overreact -" he begins hotly, but breaks off to look away, staring at the unremarkable cabin wall as realizes just how much he is shaking. He jams rigid, trembling hands into pockets and looks at the Devil and knows he looks completely, utterly terrified in not knowing. He has no idea what Lucifer wants. He can't even begin to fathom why the Devil finds him so interesting. There are plenty of intriguing beings drifting in Manhattan, and there's an entire Rift to observe and explore, and here, in this dream, the Devil has chosen to occupy himself over studying Daniel. Does he have a plan? Is he simply trailing Daniel for the sake of trailing Daniel?

It's the wild, horrified wealth of hypothetical possibilities that follow those questions that horrify him, simply because he can't summon an answer to any of them. Man's fear of the unknown, deeply ingrained and always petrifying, even for the man who made a living out of being fascinated by that same unknown.

"Then why?" He transfers his stare to the floor, to the unmarked expanse of rug. "Short of coffee and stimulating conversation, you're not gonna get anything out of me."

[all_the_gifts]

"I am, a little," she says, a statement of fact with no particular emotion attached (except, perhaps, the faint echo of the surprise she used to feel in response to others' concern for her comfort). She feels she ought to add, "It doesn't bother me much." She's been in colder dreams than this one before.

But while the chill might not be a bother, there's no denying that warmth would be nicer, and she offers him a shy smile when he points out the chair. "Yes. As long as it's okay with you," she adds diplomatically. Dream or not, she doesn't expect anyone to fully trust her.

[all_the_gifts]

What a weird god. Melanie's familiar with the Greek pantheon and other assorted deities, but none of the gods in the stories were like this, obsessed with ruling and conquering. Well, all right, some were, but they fought with each other or used humans as pawns. She can't imagine Zeus telling her to destroy the whole human race.

"That's right," she says firmly. "I don't want to rule. I... I want to learn." Even a hungry child is still a child, and learning is what they're supposed to do. "That's what I'm best at, and what I like the most: being a student."

[noteasybeingblue]

This is truly a curious symbiote. It prefers not to follow, not to lead, but to learn.

"I came into being upon my world's conception," Illyria tells it solemnly. "In the time of the Primordials, there was no learning except in the ways in which we dismembered our foes. In living so long and knowing so much, my knowledge is infinite, but the space it occupies," she looks at her shell in utter disgust, "finite."

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie can't help but be intrigued by the phrase 'infinite knowledge,' and she gives Illyria a reassessing look. "I don't need to learn how to dismember my foes," she replies, almost an even match for the god's solemnity. The hungry part of her already knows how to do that. "But I like learning other things, like maths and science and the arts. And I like stories."

She loves stories.

"Maybe there are things you could teach me," she hazards. Illyria might not like the idea. Aziraphale might not like the idea. But if he doesn't already know about Illyria, he probably should meet her, right? "About plants--the green?"

[noteasybeingblue]

She looks at the symbiote in complete bemusement. It is a strange blend, human but not purely. Mortal, likely. Illyria had not considered that vermin would come in such varied sizes. It has no interest in harnessing its powers to its own advantage, but would prefer to dismiss them entirely simply to better understand the world it occupies? Illyria has seen this world, its physics and its place, and she finds it utterly beneath her interest.

"I hear them," she tells the child-thing. "I hear their song. There was a time when I could not, and there was a time when no Rift would stop me from visiting whichever world I pleased." She looks at the thing in its eyes with a direct, penetrating blue stare. "Do you wish to know what your voices say?"

[all_the_gifts]

"I already know what my voices say," Melanie replies, meeting Illyria's gaze steadily. "That's why I keep them in a box." She touches her fingertips to her chest, just below her sternum. The box isn't real, but that's where she feels it would be, if it was. "But I can't hear any of the others, like the grass or the trees."

[noteasybeingblue]

She cocks her shell's head.

"Box."

She sees no box. The symbiote has given no indication of a box. Human biology is fairly incompatible with containing boxes within, as boxes are typically meant to encase things in an external.

Illyria was once kept in a box. Her essence was intended to remain contained until the end of time. A simple box could not hold a god, however, and she circumvented that pitiful boundary to be reborn.

"They are in your blood," she says evenly, displaying a minimum of confusion. Gods do not experience confusion, particularly not over small symbiote-children who speak of nonexistent boxes. "Within you. Not within any box."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"Perhaps I enjoy coffee and stimulating conversation," he says, and, since Daniel doesn't seem to want it, takes the coffee for himself. It's only a dream, but the ceramic is an excellent simulacrum of warm under his palms; Daniel has exquisitely detailed memories to draw from.

"Do you know how hard it is to get good conversation while you're locked up in a box in the bowels of Hell? Worse than a GOP convention."

[all_the_gifts]

"Not a literal box," Melanie explains, a little surprised by Illyria's confusion. Doesn't infinite knowledge cover metaphors? "An imaginary one, where I put the hunger so it can't hurt people." She shrugs once, gently. "When I don't listen to the voices, it's like I'm putting them in a box."

[peacefulexplorer]

He's already started backing away furiously, heels slipping against the plush of the rug, stumbling slightly when his hip grazes the bookshelf. There's an explainable spike of horror zinging powerfully through him, spurred by the revelation that no matter how much he may try, it's doubtful he will ever understand what it is the Devil wants with him.

"Yeah, well, I'm thinking that's, you're -" Halting, stuttering speech, and a hand pushed through hair that's already been jostled into agitated disarray. Daniel has to fight back the unexpected press of panic over his chest and compress his thoughts into something at least partially coherent, looking at the Devil in tired dismay. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

[noteasybeingblue]

That is a uselessly perplexing expression. Illyria decides it is not worth much of her time in determining the specifics; human colloquialisms are so very incomprehensible in their ever-changing, nonsensical fluidity.

"An unusual strategem." And not one she wishes to occupy herself examining. "You are intriguing to me. I will endeavor to locate you upon waking."

[all_the_gifts]

She's not sure she likes being referred to as 'intriguing,' but Illyria's promised not to harm her. And she's interesting in her own right. Melanie wouldn't mind hearing what other plants have to say, if she can talk the god into translating.

Still, that blunt promise to find her is a little bit off-putting. She doesn't think Aziraphale would like that. "I'm warded," she says instead. She doesn't know if the angel's protective magic would work on Illyria, but she doesn't want the god bouncing off of it and getting upset. "You'll have to ask Aziraphale."

[johnny_truant]

"Yeah, yeah," says Johnny as he scoots over, spreading the blankets around as demanded. So this is really fucking happening. He can't seem to feel annoyed - company is company, and maybe they can have some kind of truce in this setting. He turns his faint smirk toward the fire.

"Comfy?" he prompts. He can't help but enjoy the weird novelty of this situation.