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

[andhiswife]

Greta glances down at the young lad, an indulgent smile already tugging at her lips (because these biscuits are intended to be free, and even if they weren't, well, she'd probably let him get away with as many as he pleased). Wait a moment--she knows this one! Her smile widens into one of incredulous delight. Jack might not top the list of people from home that she'd like to see, but it's still a pleasant surprise to see anyone at all.

"They are," she says as she transfers the tray to the counter top, "but let them cool a little; they've only just come out of the oven, and we don't want anyone burning their fingers."

She wipes her hands on her apron, then reaches out to the boy. Never mind that she doesn't know him that well, or that she's been less than kind to him in the past; it seems like the most natural thing in the world to pull him into a (floury) hug. "And how is Jack?" she asks, running a hand over his hair. "Keeping out of trouble?" There had been trouble, hadn't there? But it's hard to focus on any unpleasantness right now, not when everything feels so nice.

[after_the_sky]

"Alriiiight," Jack whines, the word a sigh itself, as if it'll take a great effort to wait for the biscuits to cool. He's not as greedy for food as Little Red Riding Hood is, but who doesn't like a good, hot biscuit?

The very next moment, he's quite surprised to find himself enveloped in a very powdery hug. That's the only reason he stands stock still for a second. The hug, hair petting, and baking smells are so nice, though, that he hugs the woman back. There must be a reason why the contact is making his chest warmer than hugs usually do, but he can't quite think of it now. Oh well.

"Mostly," Jack says, smiling impishly. "Bu' there's jus' so much you can do with a slingshot when you're a good climber. We're livin' in the Witch's house now, so I'm never bored. Oh! I made a pillow fort. Wanna see?"

Whether that invitation is the magic of the dream threading its way into a distraction from witches and lost homes, or whether it's excitement over new, elegant things is up in the air.

[andhiswife]

Whoops - it seems the gesture startled him, if his little freeze-up is any indication, and for a moment she's worried she's done the wrong thing (again). But then he wraps his arms around her, and she lets out a little sigh of relief. Everything's fine. The poor lad probably just misses his own mother. Well, Greta did promise to help look after him, right? Obviously that responsibility includes the dispensation of hugs. She gives his back a brisk little rub before releasing him.

"I would love to see your fort," she says, untying the apron and hanging it on a hook so she won't track flour through the whole house. "And by the time you've finished showing me, the biscuits will be ready. How does that sound?" She holds out her hand, giving her fingers an inviting little wiggle.

She hasn't missed the comment about them living in the Witch's house - where is the Witch? - but she can quiz him later. Nothing feels particularly pressing in this fuzzy-edged dream, so it's no trouble to wait.