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

[johnny_truant]

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.

[postictal]

Johnny is way closer than Tim's comfortable with, but, fine, he sort of brought it on himself by refusing to budge in the first place. He keeps smoking doggedly, staring ahead.

"Maybe," he says, and suddenly he gets why Jay was so damn sick of everyone being fucking cryptic all the time. He's being forced to do the same for the sake of some protective measure, except it's not like that's even really going to work. Johnny probably doomed himself the second he walked up to that disheveled, disoriented guy in the tan jacket and offered him a smoke and a bored 'welcome to your life' spiel.

"It's not as easy when you're the source." Which sounds vaguely threatening, but maybe it should. Tim is a threat. The source. The cancer. Cut him out, and everything still bleeds.

[johnny_truant]

Fair enough. Johnny sighs softly and smokes in silence for a while.

"Well," he says, "I can help you with keeping to yourself. Money's not a problem, like I said. I get it from someone who can basically make it out of thin air, and he doesn't really care what I do with it, so."

That feels a little like too much, but it's better than the alternative of just letting Tim wonder exactly why he's throwing money around, or if he will eventually ask for something in return. Gabe supplies him with more than he needs - he's never been in the habit of spending a lot of money, he still grocery shops like a poor person, so. If he can help someone with it, he might as well.

"You can't be invisible," he says, nodding around them. "But you can stay out of the way. I've been pretty good at lying low in my time, so. I'm happy to help."

He remembers the part of his book where he went off on a massive fictionalized tangent about his miraculous doctor friend who took him in and healed all his wounds and put him back on the right track. Pages of that, and then snapping at whatever readers who bought it for buying such a fucking stupid fairytale.

And here he is, offering some half-version of it.

Life is funny.

[postictal]

It's weird, it's startling, it's a little off-putting, and it's - nice? to have that kind of innate feeling of yeah, so maybe he kind of gets it. Of course, it's dangerous as hell, which is maybe why it's weirdly reassuring. Johnny's not gonna push it. He knows not to. That's good.

Which means he's probably already fucked.

"Thanks," he says finally, because he honestly doesn't know what else he can say in response to that. Maybe it comes off a little gruff. Maybe it should. Fuck, why is he still here? Why is he the one who lived?

That's a useless thing to think here, now, with this person, with this supposedly new life that feels almost the same because it's dull and it's hidden in hotels and it's terrifying, and that's exactly how it should be.

"I know it's, it's weird right now." Like that covers any of it. It's an idiotic defense mechanism, like, maybe if he's vague about the monsters, the monsters can't get him. Yeah. Right fucking on. "It's just - I'm just - not the safest person. To be around."

[johnny_truant]

"I get it," says Johnny, more or less gently, letting his eyes slide over to Tim. "But I'm not too safe myself. I figure it balances out."

He taps ash again, then takes another thoughtful drag, attempts to blow a smoke ring, fails. "You don't have to explain shit," he says. "It's okay. I'm just borrowing a cigarette, and I'm cold, and I didn't want to sit alone." That's all this has to be.

[postictal]

"All right." He nods shortly. All right. They can be their self-isolating asshole selves, and then they can both wake up and hopefully forget all of it. Johnny's not safe either - not safe how? What kinds of things does he see when he looks over one shoulder?

Too-tall men with too-long arms, faces that stare and smirk without eyes or mouths, emotions so alien they hurt his head and bleed out his nose, the thin slips of shadows of things that should not should not could not exist because they don't make sense -

Tim's safer not being safe. Well. Everyone else is safer. And that's better.