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

[deadeyedchild]

Jay tilts to look up at him, pulling his hand back to push it under the blanket, because it's too cold now. How can a house so full of fires be so cold?

"In a dream," he echoes. "What are you talking about?"

Dream doesn't make any less sense than anything else, but he doesn't like how easy that makes it to support Tim's potential theory that he isn't really here. He is here. He's breathing. He's shivering. He's alive, no matter what Tim thinks.

[postictal]

Look, Tim doesn't get the physics of this any better, okay? He woke up in a new universe, so everyone keeps telling him, and now he has a shiny new phone and a shiny new life and he's planning to keep it sequestered away in hotels. It's The Jay Life, part deux, but at least it's sort of safe, kind of, or it would be if people didn't keep wandering into his head.

"That's what everyone keeps saying." Tim shrugs again, looks at the ground again, then somewhat begrudgingly drags one of the blankets from Jay's stolen armchair to pull it over his lap and pick absently at some of its loose strands. "I mean, I woke up in fucking Manhattan like two days ago, and people tell me that's normal. It's a new world, or something. And apparently here they have dreams where just about anyone can wander in."

Including people who are dead, gone, shot through, stamped out, bleeding out, no eyes, left broken and unburied and unmourned. Do his parents know? Did they ever find out? Do they even know where he's been the last five years? Tim didn't even think to contact them, fuck.

"So I guess right now you're here. Kind of." Right now. Something transient. Maybe it's his head, or a figment, or not. Maybe Jay is just - there for now, floating without anchoring. If that makes any sense.

[johnny_truant]

Oh - okay, well now this is happening. Johnny lets out a startled whup sound and then lies there motionless for a while, trying to figure out how he feels about this.

He feels - okay. It's kind of nice. Not because it's PETER. Just because it's nice.

"I feel like we're on the verge of needing to make a blood pact that no one ever finds out about this," he says, settling in more comfortably and pulling the blankets up. There, that's better. He considers saying something else snarky, but it doesn't feel right. "Hey, listen, man... I'm sorry about... uh. Well, I'm not sorry about the first thing because of previously discussed moral high ground, but I am sorry about punching you the last time. And being a jerk."

How uncomfortable. He squirms a little more under the blanket, wanting to burrow into it like a rabbit. HA. HA HA.

[deadeyedchild]

Oh. That's - comforting? Maybe? Maybe not. Maybe he is really dead. Maybe he's only here temporarily, in this one dream, and then he goes back to being nothing, nowhere.

He shudders involuntarily and curls up under the blankets. He doesn't want to look so vulnerable, what good will it do, but he's not sure how to be. Nothing in the world prepared him for this. For anything that he went through over the past five years. He shouldn't have approached Tim at all. He should have left Tim alone. From the beginning. And now again, too.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and immediately wishes he hadn't. He twitches with discomfort and rubs the heel of his hand against his eye. "I mean, I... I'm..."

Well, there's nothing else to say. He falls silent, berating himself. Should have kept his mouth shut. Eyes open, mouth shut, and don't get involved. Like a good documentarian. Something he never was, and, well, he never will be now. He can't quite cut off a sick-sounding giggle before it happens.

[postictal]

Oh, look, he's breaking again.

Tim can only note it with the horrible distance he's gotten used to evaluating everything with, the technique he polished in the months following it all ending, finally. Control that apathy, boy, twist it into that psychological armor that you let slip off, pathetically, the second someone acted like they might want to be your friend. As if.

He shakes his head and huffs out of his nose, and it's less of a struggle to keep his voice wry and level after all of it, after Jay being here.

"I know it wasn't really you, dumbass." Jay's dead, so might as well put him at ease about that one. At the very fucking least he's earned that. "I mean, with the zipties," he clarifies hastily. "I saw the tape with your message. It was that thing, it - so it wasn't you."

There's no real way to tell if it matters, even, but maybe it's closure. However much people like them can get it. Tim didn't even get to bury him, because there was nothing to bury. So he buried his memories of Jay and forced himself to forget (because he's just so good at that, he's had all that practice) and decided that was good enough.

[deadeyedchild]

Jay answers this with a small nod. He's not even sure that's what he was apologizing for, but he'll take it. He looks up, slowly, seeking out Tim's face only briefly before he tilts his eyes awkwardly back down. "What, um," he mumbles, but he doesn't have the heart to continue the question. He sighs and says, "Are you, um, have you been doing okay?"

[postictal]

It's Tim's turn to laugh, a bitter little snort, as he pushes his hair back again and tightens his hold on his blanket, ridiculously, like he's a fucking kid again.

He only got one blanket, and a room without a window after he broke the glass in the last one.

"How do you think?" he asks dully, but his stomach drops out the instant he says it, because Jay doesn't know what happened after. He can't have, because a little thing like death just might get in the way of that. Just maybe.

There's only the briefest stretch of silence before Tim settles for another shrug and another lie. It's what he's good at. Forgetting, then remembering, then lying about it. "I'm fine. Not much I can really say."

Out of socially-encoded instinct he almost asks how Jay's been doing before he remembers, oh yeah, right. Some awful part of him finds that darkly hilarious, and that's really fucking twisted.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"Even better," he says, because if Daniel doesn't stay dead, than it would just save Lucifer the trouble of bringing him back himself.

"Did you rise on the third day, in fulfillment of the Scriptures? Should I call you Yeshua? I think you look like an agnus dei. You could maybe be a bit more lamb-like, but you've got the sacrificial part down pat."

And he freed the slaves of Abydos, too, and fought against forces named after pagan deities. Put on that crown of thorns and have yourself a Crusade, Daniel, you fit the Christ mold like a glove.

[peacefulexplorer]

"Third day?" Wait no, he's not in the mood to debate anagogical importance with Satan, least of all in application to himself. "No, no, try descending after a year. There was no rising, and there was no, ah, well, you know, it was awful hard to keep track, there on the higher, um, higher plane."

Don't think Daniel has missed the oh so obvious hilarity of his name and all the biblical jokes that can be plumbed from it, but he's getting the more and more distinct impression that he's flailing hopelessly in a cosmic-scale game of cat and mouse with the odds stacked so high against him that it's, quite frankly, absurd.

"Anywho," says Daniel, with an almost manic edge to the forcibly light tone, "if you're, um, quite done making shaky theological comparisons, I'm gonna, I dunno, wake myself up or something." Not that it would help, because the Devil can just go and find him the minute he leaves his building anyway. Add that to the fact that Daniel still can't figure out how to wake himself up, and he's left more or less floundering.

How typical.

[fucking_ebay]

Her tone makes it pretty clear she's not up for it, but the word is unfamiliar and Peter's not one to let it go without wanting a further explanation...or without taking to opportunity to push her a little further off balance. He could ask nicely what she means, but he doesn't. Instead, he laughs.

"What?" he asks. "So, what, you only have sex with yourself? Because I'm a little asexual some weekends."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Lucifer will just patiently wait for a few beats.

"Do you need some help?"

Lucifer is just going to placidly look at Daniel while he's still resolutely stuck in the dream, not at all gently mocking him about his inability to get away from the Devil when he wants to. Nope, nothing at all like that going on here.

[peacefulexplorer]

Help? What, like does Daniel want him to brutally murder him until he wakes up or something?

Daniel stares at Lucifer in an expression of horror that quickly resolves into one that realizes it should have known better than to expect anything else at this point.

"Ah," says Daniel. "No. No, I think I'm fine. Th - no thanks."

And with that, he is just going to - go over there. No need to follow him or anything. Just, just dodging into the next room, then the next, looking over his shoulder all the way in a vague panic.

[fucking_ebay]

Peter was pretty sure when he did this that he was pranking Johnny, pushing him too far just so he could see the smaller man hop up and scurry away in the face of his overzealous approach to cuddling.

It is nice, though.

Johnny's apology is met with stunned silence followed by Peter turning his head to stare at him, watching Johnny attempt to burrow under the duvet. He holds that pose long enough for it to be awkward and uncomfortable before sniffing in a deep breath. "I do know your name," he admits at long last. "Have done for a while."

[apidae]

"No," she says, aghast, and swats him on the arm. "Adding a- to a word means it's not that. Like 'atypical' or 'amoral'. I don't like sex. I don't want to. That's my orientation, just like being straight or gay or anything else." She says all this calmly, like a lecturer. She has no interest in defending her position and she makes sure Peter hears that this is not something he'll be arguing about. She gives him an imperious eyebrow lift. "A lot of people are asexual. You are not. Not even on weekends." That much is very obvious.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny glances back at him, half-smiling in amusement over that admission, which is probably as close as Peter will get to apologizing for anything, and he'll take it. "I know you do," he says with a mild eyeroll. "The damage has been done. A lot of people call me Rabbit Man now. So thanks for that."

Getting along with Peter is ... weird. And easier than he thought it would be. Right now he can practically picture drinking with the guy. All right all right, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

[i_jones]

In another universe, maybe, Ianto met this one instead of that one and maybe that Ianto is nice and dead somewhere, but this Ianto just had to go and make friends with the clingiest fucking Doctor this side of the multiverse. He folds his arms on top of his knees, which only serves to make his blanket enclosure that much more turtle-like. Why should he tell? Because the Doctor is curious? Because maybe he wants to have a body to pin this mistake on, so he can assure himself it's nothing he would ever do in this universe or incarnation?

"It was your seventh regeneration." Well, not his. Someone's. Are the Doctor's bodies multiversal? Maybe there's a reason he's never met this one before. "Erm, he had curly brown hair and a frock coat and a... steampunk aesthetic." He drifts off and shakes his head, dismissing this description even as he gives it. What good does that do if it's a version this Doctor has never known? A little wearily, but with bite, he adds, "I've had enough Doctors guess at me. I'm not a game."

[omnomnom_feels]

Rashad just looks at him with wide, adoring eyes, giving every sign he's listenin to the brief lecture short of ceasing to glom himself onto Aziraphale's side. "It was necessary at the time," he says, not the least bit bothered. He doesn't feel the slightest bit awkward or conflicted about all of this. He feels warm and happy and inclined to spread his warmth and happiness, and it is as simple as that for him.

"Do you not find this comfortable?"

[omnomnom_feels]

"He has a friend who is not so good," Rashad warns her, though that's the worst he really has to say about Crowley at the moment. He remembers that he disapproves to the point of wanting to kill the demon, of course, but it does not seem so important just at this moment.

And then she asks about one of the many things that is not right in this world. "I do not," he admits, finding to his surprise that the happiness of the dream dulls a little. Is that what it's like to feel something on his own? It does not seem beneficial.

[all_the_gifts]

"You mean Crowley?" she guesses, her own mood fading a little. She likes Crowley, she just doesn't like that he's stuck serving Lucifer. "He can't get in. Not anymore."

Rashad's evident unhappiness with his lack of wings doesn't help matters. Now she feels bad for asking about them. "It's okay," she says, laying a hand on his arm in a way that she hopes he'll find bolstering. "You're still an angel. I can't even see Aziraphale's wings most of the time."

[the_strenuous_life]

"Damned peculiar, is what it is," Teddy agrees, wrapping the blanket around himself. "Though things have been peculiar, of late, even for the afterlife."

That sort of statement might alarm a person, and Teddy feels obligated to follow it up and explain himself somewhat.

"Son," he says, leveling the young man with a serious and presidential stare, "I don't mean to alarm you, and let me assure you I speak in perfect frankness, but I believe I may be deceased."

Aziraphale teaches an important lesson about consent

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale grunts and says reluctantly, "Well - yes, but that's not the point. Regardless of bodily comfort, it's important to ensure that the other party wants whatever it is you're - doing. Before you do it."

It's clear that Rashad has a very non-existent comprehension of etiquette on this front, and Aziraphale isn't entire sure how to get through to him. He lifts an eyebrow, watching the eloim out of the corner of his eye. "Do you understand?"

[eliotwaugh]

"Uhhhhh well," Eliot begins, snuggling unabashedly because apparently this is just emotional cuddle hour. "It was a nightmare about a thing from my world, sort of, and this...monstrous body horror thing showed up and Johnny had the misfortune of sharing my brainspace at the time."

Eliot's also loath to talk about it in a lot of detail but after Sunshine shared her thing he owes her, and he can't just leave it at that. "He uh, he got eaten." He raises a mimed glass in a toast to their shared misfortune. "Not sure what it means to dream about dead boyfriends but I sure as hell don't want to go through that again."

[interndana]

Dana sighs; she's certainly not the best at being social, and it's a relief to hear Bee echo what she's been thinking herself. She relaxes, sinking down and getting comfortable.

"I've been getting out of the office more, I actually started a new job part-time," says Dana, smiling as she leans into Bee to help warm her up faster. "It's at a florist, it's so much nicer than Romac." She pauses a moment, with a little frown. "Of course I don't want to sound ungrateful, they've given me a place to live and work to do and I've learned how to get along in the city but...but it's not something I want to do forever, you know? Or, at least however long I'll be here for."

Dana smiles, and gives Bee a little hug. "Which is why I want to spend more time with people while I can!"

[singthesong]

"Oh." The Balladeer speaks, a little taken aback by the presidentiality of the pronouncement. "Well. That - you probably are." He's actually relieved that Roosevelt already knows, and can confirm his suspicions for him. He must be dead. How else do you explain the two of them encountering one another?

Not that he GENERALLY talks to dead presidents, but hey, first time for everything.

"Sorry," he apologizes belatedly, even though Teddy doesn't seem especially perturbed at being dead. "But that does make a lot of sense."

[rae_of_sun]

"Ugh," Sunshine says, with feeling. "Gross."

Okay, so that wasn't the most sympathetic response in the world. "I'm sorry. Just… toxic kali nightmares all around, huh?" Poor Eliot. And Johnny. Poor everyone. She gives Eliot an encouraging squeeze. "We should start a club. It can be like drunk brunch, but... drunker."