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

[singthesong]

The Balladeer holds Greta close without even really thinking about it, giving her a friendly squeeze. Obviously this is a totally normal friend activity.

"I'd like that!" That DOES sound fun! He's never made cookies before, for obvious reasons that they don't need to get into right now. He's too comfy and warm right now to bother thinking about it, and more than enough to appreciate her suggestion of putting the lessons off. He doesn't really want to move. "You should come over, I'll show you my apartment." It isn't much yet; he's only been there for a couple days. But it's his!

[andhiswife]

Greta really ought to know better, but this is so nice. She's missed being close to someone like this. And if a quiet interior voice is trying to warn her that nice is different than good, well, it's all but impossible to hear it over the much louder and more soothing voice insisting that everything is fine, there's no need to worry, and she really ought to stay right where she is.

"All right," she says agreeably, polishing off the rest of her cookie. It's not as if her apartment is much more lived-in than his, she'd guess, and the kitchen is probably similar enough to be getting on with. "I'll bring over the ingredients, and we can use your kitchen." And utensils - she might need to bring those, too. She'll have to make a list!

Now that her hand is no longer occupied, Greta slings her arm around the Balladeer's waist with drowsy enthusiasm and tucks her head beneath his chin. So friendly and normal. Remembering the instrument he'd had in the other dream - not his guitar, something else - she asks, "Have you found any new instruments? Or do you still just have the guitar?" When ROMAC had learned she was a baker, they'd been kind enough to make sure she had more in the way of kitchen supplies than the average new arrival. Maybe they did something similar with him, but with musical things.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer chuckles slightly, angling his head down to rest against the top of hers. "Sounds good." See, this is what he gets being tall. It's nice, though, being all tucked up together. The faint chill of the lodge air can't get at them in here.

"No, nothing else yet. I might pick one up soon." He doesn't know anything about Greta and her special kitchen supplies, but ROMAC certainly didn't go out of their way to provide him with the tools of his trade. Not that he'd be put out if he did know; after all, he arrived with one already. The lone guitar's been more than enough to get him started. "It's a little expensive," he explains, idly lifting a hand to brush some of her stray hair back into place, "to get a quality one. But I found a good shop, and busking's been going well." It's a modest enough goal, rebuilding his instrument collection. He's quite happy to occupy himself with it.

[andhiswife]

He'll have his work cut out for him; there's no shortage of stray hair thanks to the time she spent bustling around the kitchen, in and out of the heat from the oven. She's probably getting flour on his shirt, too. Oh, well. Hazards of the trade.

Greta hums in acknowledgement. Six hundred dollars still sounds like an incredible sum. Relatively speaking, it's probably more than she's used to living on, too. But she's been to the grocer's, and that little trip quickly disabused her of the notion that she could buy anything with ROMAC's stipend. She'd needed to have a bit of a lie-down after she got back to her apartment and read the receipt again. And that was just for food. Goodness knows how much something like a musical instrument would go for.

"Maybe you could show me how to play," she suggests, a bit shyly. Like a trade: baking lessons for music lessons. That makes sense, right? Not that she'd blame him if he didn't want her messing about with the only instrument he has; a ruined batch of pastries is a far smaller matter than a broken string or something. "Only if you wouldn't mind," she hastens to add.

[singthesong]

"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."

[andhiswife]

"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."

[singthesong]

The Balladeer considers her hand a moment longer, before folding his longer fingers over hers and dropping both back down to the blankets. Yeah, she'll do just fine.

With a sudden surge of affection, he squeezes her shoulders gently and leans his cheek down against the top of her head. "Thank you," he says, quietly. He does not say that no one's ever said anything that nice to him before, but it's in his voice. "I'm glad you're here, too."

(Were they not in such a warm and cozy dream, he'd probably not have said he's glad she got pulled away from her home. But she knows what he means.)

[andhiswife]

She'd said it mostly on impulse, not really considering the broader implications - though the gentle squeeze and somewhat awed thanks remind her that the Balladeer probably hasn't had many opportunities to make friends before. Not while hopping through time and conversing mostly with murderers, poor fellow. Even if he had friends before, when he was a child (he was a child once, right?), how often could he possibly see them while working? And it seemed like he was almost always working.

It must have been a very lonely sort of life. No wonder he was so cheerful about landing in Manhattan.

Well. He has at least one friend, now, and she is glad of that, too. Greta runs her thumb in a little arc over his fingers. "We'll be all right," she says, almost wonderingly, because for the first time since her arrival, she thinks she believes it.

[singthesong]

"Yes," the Balladeer agrees warmly, holding Greta close and sighing in contentment. He's in no hurry to get up, or even really think about moving right now. "I think we will."