applesaucedream | Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

Current Music: Evening of August 14th/Morning of August 15th, 2013

Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

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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.]

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"Okay!" She sits up a little straighter, excited, overjoyed even, at the quick acceptance. "I'll be there soon. Really this time. I'm sorry I didn't come the other times I said I would, I was just... nervous, I guess." She grins broadly. "It'll be great. I can't wait to help out." She's GOOD at administration! Organization, smiling at people - her most natural gifts.

Bee keeps her eyes shut, listening attentively to the song. Is it one he wrote or someone else's? He wasn't really clear on that point, but that's okay. It's nice. He has a nice voice. It kind of reminds her of growing up a little bit, when her momma used to sing to her.

She peeks up at him after a moment, smiling, feeling strangely subdued. Can you doze off in a dream, when you're already asleep?

She waits until he's done, and then starts to say, "Where do you-" She breaks off with a yawn. Well you can certainly get sleepy in a dream, at least. "Sorry. Where do you live, when we're awake? I wanna meet you again." Tentatively. It's always a little nerve-wracking, meeting someone in the neutral ground of the dreaming, and then not knowing what to expect from their patterns. She still remembers the almost catastrophic time she met the Doctor after their shared dream had been so pleasant.

Johnny leans forward and pulls one of the various fluffy comforters - it's fucking cold down here, and all things considered he'd much rather have body heat, but that still seems like a no-go. He's got enough of a grip on himself not to drape over a person he's still getting to know, so to speak.

He nods at the cigarettes. "Can I bum one of those as well? They'll still be there when you wake up. Freebie." He smiles. He doesn't know entirely why he's being so friendly with this guy, just that... whatever he's picking up on, about him, between them, some kind of shared caginess, it's something he wants to hang onto if he can.

And maybe it's a little bit like the fucking puppy he couldn't save. Something so small and broken just like him. So important not to let it slip through the cracks.

He shrugs, and offers the packet with its cheap, sparse contents. Are dream cigarettes higher quality than the crap he's used to? Tim takes an experimental pull on his. Apparently not.

"Not bad," he admits finally, blowing out a curl of smoke and looking at the cabin's wood ceiling. "For a dream, I mean. Better than my usual." Anything's better than his usual. Suits, ties, faces without faces, the long dark tendrils of things that shouldn't exist.

Yeah, Tim prefers this.

"Um, one of those..." He trails off, frowning, trying to remember the name. Mythology isn't one of his strongest suits. Unlike Daniel, who could probably ramble for hours about something like that.

"Like a tree spirit? Covered in plants and leaves, growing out of my skin," he says, making a slight face. The word he's looking for is dryad, but it's eluding him.

After a while he had decided it was sort of like hair, since even if it was growing out of him, it wasn't like he had any sensation in it, and it didn't hurt him to have any of it torn off. But it was also the only thing that was covering him, so he hadn't tried to remove it, since walking around outside naked would be even more awkward and embarrassing.

Daniel executes a small double-take at that, eyebrows shooting upward.

"You mean like a, a nymph or a dryad?" Maybe it wasn't a whole lot of fun for Seth, but Daniel mostly seems fascinated by the entire idea. "Tree spirit? 'Cause that's, that's straight out of classical Greek mythology." He's been supplied with a tangent, and now he's taken off at full speed. "Most were closely associated with oak trees but there were others, subspecies almost, that related to different kinds of trees like ash, elm, apple, walnut, etc. And most were, erm, female, but that's, that's not strictly a concrete fact given the, ah, scope. Of Greek mythology."

He coughs lightly and goes back to observing the cabin and adamantly not thinking about dryads in Greek mythology and what the Rift might have picked him to be if it were drawing out of historical mythology as a resource. He's not sure he wants the answer to that one.

"Of course!" That makes total sense! It'll be like an exchange of ideas. The Balladeer stretches out his legs, propping them up on the chair's arm. "That's a great idea! I'll warn you, guitar can be a little hard on the fingers to start."

He takes her hand, studying it with his strong, callused fingers. She hasn't got particularly tiny ones, anyway, her reach'll be fine. If he's honest, he doesn't recall a time when he didn't know how to play. No one really taught him; he just knows, generally, how the learning is supposed to go. Still, he's sure he can teach someone else perfectly well. "But I'm sure you'll pick it up. Or I could teach you something else, later."

Johnny takes a cigarette, lights it - at least he usually has his lighter in dreams - and leans back, for a moment just enjoying the disparity of two paranoid assholes smoking inside a cozy rustic cabin.

"Mine too," he says, "which is funny, because usually I'd be suspicious of any dream set inside a house. Some history there." He makes a vague gesture, like leaving that to your imagination. Fuck, this is almost fun. "But this one, I feel pretty safe. Sometimes that's the dream too, though. They can make you feel things."

So, that's not really comforting. Especially because he's pretty sure that's what's going on here. But he isn't too worried. Again, that's kind of - the point, isn't it? Man he should stop thinking about this.

"They make you feel things?" Tim straightens abruptly, brow furrowing in concern. Things like - what kinds of things? Things nestled in his head that don't belong? Cause, well, fuck, he's had just about enough of those. And not to mention the thing or things currently already in his head -

Fuck. He fucking knew these dreams would be bad news.

"How do you stop them?" he asks, a little too sharply given his earlier lax attitude about the whole thing. "I mean, can you just, like, wake up?"

Johnny remains more or less implacable in the face of Tim's distress, though he does wince, half sympathy, half regret for giving him one more reason to freak out. He takes another pull and releases the smoke toward the fireplace.

"There's one way that doesn't involve getting help from a supernatural entity," he says, "and we do have a few of those running around, and not all of them are helpful. But. The other method isn't one that I recommend." He doesn't really want to think about this. He stretches out, sighing heavily.

"You can die," he says. "In dreams. That makes you wake up. But, uh, again, not recommended." How many times has he done it now? He should count that out, but he suspects it would be awful and depressing.

"Look, sometimes the mood shifting... thing, it's exactly as fucked up as it sounds." He pulls his blanket up a little more snugly. "Sometimes, it's just... what it is. Dreaming we're all in a scary forest, we're all scared, even though nothing fucking happened in that one." Well, almost. "Dreaming we're in a safe, friendly cabin, and we all feel friendly and safe. It's just to go with the decor, so to speak."

He shrugs. Is this the apathy that comes with experience or part of the mood alteration? He can't even tell. "We kind of have to just make do and wait it out," he says. "These ones, the big shared ones, they tend to have a theme. This one is so fucking innocuous - fireplaces, blankets, couches everywhere - it's like a giant sleepover. Trust me. Enjoy it while you can. Because there are so many things that are so much worse."

Again, not helping. He sighs and laughs dryly. "Sorry," he says. "I'm just, you know. Trying to prepare you. Nobody prepared me." He sounds like a grizzled war veteran. He makes the executive decision to shut up.

Seth can't help the grin that slowly grows on his face as Daniel goes off on a small ramble, as expected. It's one of the things he ~~loves~~ likes about him, his ability to get excited and interested in almost anything.

The last bit gives him a little pause, though he's mostly just amused. "Well, it didn't make me into a woman if that's what you're wondering." Although should he be worried about some of the implications of that? Was the Rift making a point about his romantic inclinations or something? He's going to abandon that thought.

For a terrifying minute Tim's fingernails sink into the unresisting fabric of the armchair and he looks about wildly, feeling less relaxed now and more like something trapped, caged. It's the panic born from expecting to see that thing lurking in the corners of his vision, the blind spots in his head, the places he doesn't look because he knows what will be there when he does. There's the choking anxiety clawing up into his chest, drowning his lungs, constricting, and he has to release it in a bout of hasty coughing.

Agh. Fuck. It doesn't go away. Not even in dreams.

Of course it wouldn't go away in dreams. He's seen the wreck his head's been turned into, felt it firsthand; why would he assume he'd be any safer in some internalized space when it's the internal that's been the issue from the start? Stupid, Tim. Stupid, broken, thoughtless Tim.

The coughing fit subsides, and Tim forces himself to speak in a tone that's halfway level. "Just think maybe, uh." Maybe, what? Maybe he should've taken Alex's advice. Stupid Tim. Selfish Tim. He'd rather live in hell than save everyone else from the same. "Maybe it'd be safer if I woke up. Even if it means, you know." It's not like he hasn't tried. They put you in hospitals for that. But he'd had the right idea.

"No, no, I just, ah." Seth's smirking again, which is highly distracting, but Daniel can't help but grin crookedly back. "Well, just wondering what it'd turn me into, given the chance. Not that I'd want to be turned into anything, really, but, y'know. Curious. You'd think that's happened to me before given all the wormhole-jumping I've done but, nope."

Which goes to show that there's always something the Rift can spring on him if he ever feels like he's getting too comfy. Keeping things exciting, or maybe just frustrating. Or, no, exciting a little, he'll admit it, because the Rift is a bit fascinating all on its own, random and often frustrating machinations included.

"I think I'll survive," she says, watching him examine her hand with a wry smile. A woman from the court might have soft hands, but Greta's are accustomed to work, strengthened by years of kneading dough and toughened by a series of inevitable minor burns. They're not so calloused as his, and the strings probably will be a bit rough on her at first, but she might cope better than most.

She's very pleased he seems to like the idea. Learning an instrument is something of an indulgence back home, something she certainly never thought she'd get to do, and it's exciting to think of getting a chance to pick one up, after all. How lucky for her to have befriended a good musician so quickly!

"I'm glad you're here," she says warmly, curling her fingers around his. "You're a good friend."

The Balladeer's lips quirk at the yawn, and he pats her head in a friendly manner. Obviously this is a totally normal thing for two people who just met to be doing.

"Just in the ROMAC tower. I've been there four days now." He's still very new; for all he knows, the ROMAC tower and the other ROMAC building are basically all the places he could be living. "Been spending most of the time busking in the park, while the weather's still good." It's been long enough now without getting whisked away that he's starting to think towards the future, or at least as far ahead as winter.

Johnny looks up, for the first time properly alarmed, when Tim starts coughing violently. That's right, he'd done that before, but he'd sort of assumed it was a smoker thing. This sounds worse. Like really, really sick.

And then he says that, and Johnny's eyes widen and you should know better, Johnny, then to just say something like that to someone when they remind you of you.

Abruptly, he leans over to the hearth, puts his cigarette out against the stone, tucks it behind his ear, and gets up.

"No," he says. "You're not doing that. Look man, I don't know what you've been through, it's obviously not good, but it's not worse than anyone else here. It took me a while to figure that out. You don't have a monopoly on being fucked up."

He feels his breath catch when he says that. Gabriel said that, to him. Gabriel was the first person who treated him like he wasn't so broken he was beyond repair.

Feeling mildly exposed after this small monologue, he jerks his chin at Tim and starts climbing onto the sofa beside him. "Shove over," he says. "We're gonna sit here and smoke and enjoy the stupid cabin, and wake up naturally." That's an order. Or something.

Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he's not the one who gets to decide what fucked up is. But maybe neither is Johnny. Because with Tim, it's not just Tim. It's everyone. It's whoever he touches, whoever he talks to, whoever he interacts with, and he's just the virus and everyone gets exposed.

Selfish of him. Selfish of him to think he could do this, start over, keep his head down. What is he doing? What made him think he could pull this off, fucking reinvent himself or whatever existential bullshit, when that thing has defined him and will always define him and will always follow him and will not stop for anything.

"Sometimes you don't go through stuff," he answers dully, with an enormous effort to drag his tone back into something level and conversationally acceptable. "Sometimes it's not done to you. Sometimes it's just that you're born with it, and you have to live with it, and it's all your fault." And it fucking sucks.

Johnny doesn't seem deterred, but Tim doesn't shift to make it easy for him. He keeps smoking and tries not to think of the dwindling medication in his hotel room.

"Weeell," he says slowly, thinking back to the dream and what he'd seen walking around there. There was a good variety, though Seth had mostly just seen them from afar. He hadn't particularly wanted to socialise too much that day - feeling a little awkward wearing nothing but leaves - but thankfully he had pretty easily blended into the surroundings and could escape notice.

"Lots of half-animal variations. Centaurs, and the like. And, what are those, with the goat legs - fauns!" See, he does know some things. "And uh, mermaids. And.. something part lion, but with a scorpion tail? And... Something... half mermaid, half centaur, I guess?" He could mostly recognise the ingredients, so to speak, just not the names for everything.

"Huh." Daniel leans back, apparently unaware that one arm is still flung over the back of the armchair and therefore not very far from dropping around Seth's shoulders and stretching the meaning of 'companionable proximity'. "Well, lion-scorpion sounds a bit like a manticore, but that's out of Persian legend and they aren't typically mashed together with human physiology. Hmm. The 'water horse' description is reminiscent of a kelpie but I'd say that's more, um, ichthyocentaur, if the Rift was keeping with a general human-hybrid theme. It's a bit like an aquatic centaur."

He doesn't know why he's devoting a great deal of thought to this, but it's...comfortable. It's talking for talking's sake, no distracting from the agony of withdrawal, just a nice, pleasant dream with some nice, pleasant chatter.

At this point Seth finds himself completely unbothered by the proximity, companionable or not, and just enjoying the close contact. In fact he rather wants more of it. Not that that's particularly uncommon, but it's stronger right now, in a way he doesn't quite question. He doesn't mind the way the softness of their seating makes him lean against Daniel even without meaning to. It's comfortable.

And of course Daniel would know the names of those things. It's like having his own little lexicon, at least when it comes to historical stuff.

"Well, maybe it'll happen again. We do sometimes get repeats," he answers a shrug, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Maybe you'll end up some kind of centaur, those seemed pretty popular. I saw a part-llama one!" The last bit gets accompanied by a lazy, crooked grin.

"Mm, really?" He looks at Seth, amusement eliciting a broader smile. "Something about me really just, just screams centaur?" He looks down at himself, almost picturing the lower body of the horse and he wonders briefly what it'd be like to have to manage six limbs instead of four. It seems like it might be a mechanical overload, but who knows?

"I can see it now." He tilts his head to one side in mock wistfulness, dangerously close to collapsing entirely on Seth's shoulder. "Daniel Jackson, onocentuar - that's part donkey, mind. You know, cause I can be an ass sometimes." His grin widens, cheekily unrepentant.

What. He really should not have been able to be so surprised by this. Maybe it's different in dreams? But that sort of lackadaisical approach to mental boundaries should make it easier to be aware of the presence of another time sensitive or God forbid, another incarnation. Yet even under his full owlish awareness, this still seems very...off. And apparently he's not alone in thinking that.

Just look at this complacent fop-haired milquetoast, how do you even sleep in a dream? Why would you? Having to sleep when you're awake is bad enough. Or...whatever. "I don't know, do you?" he replies, unhelpfully and caustically. "I thought you weren't in Manhattan anymore." He sounds deeply disappointed.

Johnny is not deterred, and if Tim doesn't want to shove over as requested, then he's going to have to deal with Johnny sliding his skinny ass right in next to him, nestling under the blankets. He relights his cigarette and sits there, trying not to think about how hilarious they probably look, stoically sitting almost right on top of each other, being depressed. At least it's a lot warmer here. This is nice, right? Tolerably nice.

"I'm sorry," he says. Gabe's line didn't work right away on him, either - hell, it's still not working a lot of the time - but that doesn't mean it isn't worth saying. He sinks into the couch a little, getting more comfortable. "Whatever it is, maybe it came with you, and maybe it didn't. I do know... how you feel. I think." He reaches out and taps ash onto the floor. "Things can be different, though. They are for me. And I never thought they would be." Maybe that's not helpful from where Tim's sitting, but it's all he knows to say.

Seth gives a soft snort and elbows Daniel gently in the side. He's still smiling though, so clearly he's not exactly bothered. He shakes his head in amused exasparation, then leans it backwards, resting partly on the back of the seat and partly on Daniel's arm.

"Stop horsing around," he says, closing his eyes in mild disgust at himself for making that joke.

"You're so new!" she exclaims, lifting her head somewhat. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Is this your first big dream? It's a lot nicer than most of them." Thank goodness for that. "I've been here for... coming up on two months now, I think. I guess that's not very long." She settles back down into his lap. Her complete nonchalance about being so affectionate with a relative stranger might seem like a part of the dream, but it is more or less part of her nature. The nicest thing about this dream is everyone else seems to be feeling that too. For once she doesn't have to check herself.

"I'm with the Rebels," she says. "So I guess we technically aren't supposed to be friends. But I've met people from ROMAC before, and they're all really nice. I don't think it matters." The people who work for each faction probably care a lot about the political back and forth, but Bee knows next to nothing about any of it. It's just that she met Daine first - just as she imagines he met someone from the other side. It is a shame, though, that he might not be safe to come to the rooftop of the Rebel apartment building, so she could show off her bees.

She smiles, dipping her head to the side in a moment of consideration. "We could meet in the park," she says almost conspiratorially. "It is pretty big, and I don't really know a lot of it, but I bet I can find you if I look hard enough!" And if she enlists Daine's help. Though she's pretty sure she shouldn't just tell people her friend can tell all the animals of Manhattan to look for them.

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Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

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