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

[whofrownedthisface]

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.

[bluesuit_handy]

"No," says Andrew more sharply, alert enough to be irrationally irritated for no apparent reason wary of the weirdo with his hands in the fire. "I don't. Which begs the question of how you know me -- and of course I haven't left Manhattan; I can't leave Manhattan. I can't even leave the bloody basement most days."

He frowns deeply and disapprovingly. "You'll burn yourself doing that."

[whofrownedthisface]

"Fancy that, you telling me to be careful," and if it were technically possible to warm his hands more spitefully without sustaining actual fire damage, his tone makes it clear he'd do so immediately. "Don't be so stupid." Spite aside, he actually turns around fully, sits carefully on the hearth. It's not so much that he's paying attention; his back is also cold. "I thought the TARDIS said you were gone. Hoovered back up by the rift." This is accompanied by a sarcastic hand gesture in no way related to vacuuming, yet descriptive nonetheless. The words themselves are less and less imbued with certainty as they continue. Is that what she said? Is he missing something dreadfully obvious, well it wouldn't be the first time, but it still makes him even more unnecessarily acerbic. And by God this piedough on the couch before him will have to solve this mystery alone.

[bluesuit_handy]

Do it, bro, he dares you.

"Did she." It's been a while since he and the TARDIS last spoke (Andrew tends to get the impression that she forgets about him much of the time, which isn't quite as disturbing anymore as he rather thinks it ought to be), but since when is she going around telling people the Rift took him? And who is this bozo, anyway?

"Who are you?" he asks coldly. "Are you some kind of -- oh."

A thought has occurred to him. He doesn't like it. "No. You aren't. Are you? Blimey, I hope not, just look at that face!"

[whofrownedthisface]

"I am. Close your mouth before flies get in," which is as much to revel in his surprise as it is to say 'shut up.' Like he's got any business talking about faces, with that chickeny aspect, complete with ridiculous plumage. "Took you long enough," he says smugly. "I don't remember being quite so slow." Shots fired, he sits up from his interested, arms-on-knees lean, folds his legs up crosslegged on the hearth instead; he won that round. But he still strongly suspects he might be the one being slow on the uptake now; he just can't work out how, exactly. "She said you were replaced by the eighth, who had the decency to pack it up after my arrival."

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew scowls; the comment on his intelligence stings more than it might have stung the actual Doctor in his place. he's caught on now, though; it's only a question of whether this new Doctor will feel more stupid if Andrew corrects him now or if he lets him go on thinking he's talking to his own past incarnation. Andrew would so like him to feel stupid.

"Well, I can tell you I'm in Manhattan now," he says, opting not to lie but not to help him out, either. "Not my fault if you're too thick to notice what's under your own nose."