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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"All right," Daniel concedes delicately, staring fixedly at the faint wisps of steam rolling off the surface of the disturbingly real coffee. "So I'll, I'll give you that. We have - something - in common." It's true, what he's saying about the odds. It's simply so unlikely that multiple entities from the same universe would be drawn out and displaced to here, exit point Manhattan, within months of each other. The Rift's cruel sense of humor? Does it even have a sense of humor?

With visible effort, Daniel forces himself to look the Devil in the eyes again, trying and failing not to shudder at the veil of darkened presence he can barely perceive. The embodiment of sin and destruction and pride, clad in an innocuous man and chatting with Daniel over coffee.

He continues despite it. "But no more or less than any of the other rifties. They're victims of the same set of circumstances that we are. There's nothing about our - association, or relationship, or whatever you wanna call it, that makes us any different."

He hopes.

"Maybe, maybe not."

At least he's acknowledging the possibility that there's only a tenuous connection between them, but he doubts it. What are the odds that the Rift would bring in a man who is so very similar to his former vessel, and then would bring them together so quickly?

Or, perhaps, it's that they would find each other so quickly, no intervention by the Rift required. His connection to Sam had been like gravity, pulling him to Lucifer like iron to magnets. Inevitable. Perhaps Daniel has been drawn by the same force, albeit more weakly-- a paramagnetic mineral instead of Sam's ferrous.

"I noticed a trend, Daniel. You, myself, and Iman arrived here within a few days of each other. Aziraphale arrived a week before I did. Two angels, one former Ascended, and a dimensional physicist. All people who operate on or within a different plane of existence, and doesn't it seem odd that the Rift would bring in several of those all at the same time?"

Aziraphale. Daniel remembers the name - Melanie's caretaker, apparently an angel as well? From Lucifer's universe? There's a paradoxical mix of emotions in that. On one hand, if she's being looked after by an angel she's probably being kept safe but on the other, Lucifer seems to have some elevated interest. Daniel folds his arms over his chest, an unconscious display of the associated worry.

"So, what? It's, it's harvesting specific extradimensionally-inclined individuals?" The thought is more than a little concerning, however more concerning it can be over Lucifer taking an unmediated interest in the unwilling subject of Daniel Jackson. "For what purpose? You think that means we're all connected somehow? That we're meant to - better understand it somehow?"

The Rift operates on its own agenda, if it has an agenda at all, but why in the name of all things holy and unholy would it recruit Lucifer to this cause? Or are they, is Lucifer, rather, searching for patterns where there are none? Unless he has some greater understanding of the great cosmic butterfly's wings, even in this limited space, which is entirely possible. But Daniel's quite certain he doesn't want to get drawn into an investigation if said investigation is going to involve working beside Lucifer - though, really, he wouldn't have a great deal of choice if that were the case.

"I can't speak on the Rift's intentions, if it can even have any," he says. "I haven't been able to examine it closely enough to determine if it's even sentient or not. It could be acting on its own accord, or it could be a tool used by something else, or it could be simply a natural phenomenon of this universe."

He couldn't really say if it could act on its own agenda, so speculating on what that agenda might be is pointless until they have better information. All he can do now is point out the patterns-- and it's fairly obvious that, sentient or not, the Rift is capable of discerning between wanted and unwanted individuals, based on some sort of criteria.

"But it certainly makes for an interesting little ontological mystery, doesn't it?"

Daniel's eyes narrow incrementally as he slides his fingers between the book's pages and lets it fall open on his lap.

"Maybe," he answers, acharacteristically laconic as he processes that particular theory. It's admittedly intriguing, but it's not something he wants to discuss over coffee with Satan.

He looks at Lucifer again, expression careful and composed and even, but quite unable to completely mask the darkened undercurrent beneath.

"Or maybe you're looking for patterns where there aren't any. Maybe I'm just Daniel, pulled in at random, and maybe you're seeing something in me that simply doesn't exist."

Immediately after he says it, the breath tightens in his chest. Oblique challenges to Lucifer or not, suggesting what he's suggesting might be the surest way to confirm to the Devil that Daniel is of no interest to him, consequently increasing the risk of possible immediate painful death.

"That is, technically, a possibility, but it's immensely unlikely."

Lucifer is unfazed by Daniel's challenge; he sees it less as an equal intellectual critique and more like a scared child stubbornly yelling 'no' because he doesn't like the answer. Stubborn children might be annoying, but they must be forgiven their outbursts because they simply don't know any better.

"Pardon me if I'd prefer to play to the odds."

"Hang on, let me - you, you think it's more likely that our meeting was orchestrated by fate than the idea that it wasn't?" His eyebrows climb up, skepticism mounting as he eyes the Devil even more dubiously than before. "I, I take it fate was kind of a bigger force in your universe than it was in mine, then."

Which, according to infinite universe theory - all right, fine, he's one of the first to concede that anything is possible. But this universe has its own set of laws, some that defy physics and some that simply go beyond it, and to what extent destiny plays into those rules here is more or less undefinable from Daniel's standpoint, or anyone's.

"You're quick to ascribe divine inspiration."

After all, fate is a power or agency that predetermines set events, making them unavoidable, in adherence to natural order-- that agency generally being a deity of one form or another.

"That being said, yes, fate played a role in my universe, in a manner of speaking. My Father's orders are inevitable. However, I still don't think that the Rift is a vehicle of fate, just as I don't believe that any outside force acting on me is fate. Not all things are fated, Daniel, and not all fates are immutable."

Though Lucifer's was, apparently, if his earlier conversations had any meaning whatsoever; the Devil, fated to be beautiful and fated to fall just the same. Some intricate, divine plan, apparently in place since his universe's conception, made to be immutable.

Was Daniel just the same?

Was he fated? Was he always meant to die in repetition and Ascend without answers, or did fate only ever exist in his universe for as much as those higher-plane beings would define it? Just like Lucifer fell, was Daniel also intended to fall from the ranks of the Ascended, predestined to be cast out for his rebellion before he even knew he was going to be one of them?

He doesn't want to inspect that idea.

"I just don't think we were meant to come into collision," Daniel replies carefully, though visibly unsettled. "I think it happened because I happened to get lost in the park, and Iman happened to find me, and we all happened to converge upon Wilmot's."

Maybe random chance doesn't quite have the ring the Devil is looking for. Daniel's content enough with that explanation, weak an argument as it is.

"And that I can agree with. The manner of our meeting could easily be chalked up to chance. The fact that we are here, in Manhattan, in this universe? That, no."

But, at that point, it doesn't matter if the actual manner of their meeting is scripted or not. The fact that they are all concentrated in Manhattan, combined with Daniel's ability to sense extradimensional beings and his inability to refrain from getting involved and Lucifer's penchant for high-profile violence meant that they would inevitably intersect at some point. No script required-- if something had wanted them to meet, all it had to do was wait and play the odds.

High probability and fate aren't the same thing, but sometimes they could look very similar.

Morality, fate, chance - it seems Lucifer is rather big on discussing the appropriately heavy topics. Daniel would be much enthused to as well, provided his partner in conversation was not the literal Devil. As it is, he's more inclined to be incredibly, justifiably suspicious.

"I got dragged into Manhattan during one last mission before I planned on transferring to another galaxy," he explains with a cautious shrug. "It doesn't feel like there was much predestination involved in that." He'd been so intent on finally getting to see Atlantis. Now it seems like he never will. Interdimensional universal barriers are a pretty permanent obstacle, even apparently for beings more supernaturally inclined than him.

"I don't think that the Rift would particularly care if it was convenient for you."

Lucifer got yanked right when he was falling into the Pit, after all, while in the body of his chosen vessel, which is either extremely inconvenient or very convenient depending on whether or not he could manage to return to his home universe in a different location. If he could-- fantastic, than he can avoid that pesky trapped in Hell thing while his brother hangs out in his old prison. That's a poetic justice that even Gabriel should be able to appreciate.

"All right," says Daniel, flipping through the book's pages at random with a sort of fervent need to distract himself from being the subject of Satan's interest, a stark kinesic exhibition of his mental unrest. Then, in a movement that manages to be both fluid and stumbling, he grips one arm of the chair and wrests himself to the feet, book sliding from his lap to hit the ground with a dull clunk and the coffee mug soon following in a disordered cascade of spattering liquid and shattering porcelain.

For a minute Daniel stares in complete distress at the mess on the floor of the cabin before looking back at Lucifer, questioning and at an end to himself.

"Whatever it is you want with me," he fights to keep his tone level, the sheer unnerving calm the Devil consistently radiates managing to spook him despite the dream's calming influence, "just tell me and, and be done with it. I can't, I don't -" He scrubs one hand through his hair, at a loss. "I don't know what you want."

My, Daniel makes such a little mess with his outburst; the book on the floor and the mug in splinters and coffee everywhere. It's a little rude, too, to be so unconcerned about it, especially when someone might trod on one of the pieces. Just because it's a dream doesn't mean that it wouldn't hurt to step on a ceramic shard.

Lucifer snaps his fingers and the mug returns to its previous form, whole and full of coffee, balanced on the arm of the chair. The floor is clear and clean.

"I think you're overreacting, Daniel," he says. "There's nothing that I can take from you that I would want."

"Overreact -" he begins hotly, but breaks off to look away, staring at the unremarkable cabin wall as realizes just how much he is shaking. He jams rigid, trembling hands into pockets and looks at the Devil and knows he looks completely, utterly terrified in not knowing. He has no idea what Lucifer wants. He can't even begin to fathom why the Devil finds him so interesting. There are plenty of intriguing beings drifting in Manhattan, and there's an entire Rift to observe and explore, and here, in this dream, the Devil has chosen to occupy himself over studying Daniel. Does he have a plan? Is he simply trailing Daniel for the sake of trailing Daniel?

It's the wild, horrified wealth of hypothetical possibilities that follow those questions that horrify him, simply because he can't summon an answer to any of them. Man's fear of the unknown, deeply ingrained and always petrifying, even for the man who made a living out of being fascinated by that same unknown.

"Then why?" He transfers his stare to the floor, to the unmarked expanse of rug. "Short of coffee and stimulating conversation, you're not gonna get anything out of me."

"Perhaps I enjoy coffee and stimulating conversation," he says, and, since Daniel doesn't seem to want it, takes the coffee for himself. It's only a dream, but the ceramic is an excellent simulacrum of warm under his palms; Daniel has exquisitely detailed memories to draw from.

"Do you know how hard it is to get good conversation while you're locked up in a box in the bowels of Hell? Worse than a GOP convention."

He's already started backing away furiously, heels slipping against the plush of the rug, stumbling slightly when his hip grazes the bookshelf. There's an explainable spike of horror zinging powerfully through him, spurred by the revelation that no matter how much he may try, it's doubtful he will ever understand what it is the Devil wants with him.

"Yeah, well, I'm thinking that's, you're -" Halting, stuttering speech, and a hand pushed through hair that's already been jostled into agitated disarray. Daniel has to fight back the unexpected press of panic over his chest and compress his thoughts into something at least partially coherent, looking at the Devil in tired dismay. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Breathe, Daniel," he says, even though technically Daniel doesn't need to breathe, because this is a dream. But it's supposed to be a calming thing, anyway, for humans to consciously regulate their respiration. Lucifer has ceased to question the logic of such things.

"You're starting to panic. You ought to sit down and compose yourself."

His fractured anxiety hardens into a frown, pinning the Devil with a firm glare.

"You haven't answered my question."

Not that Daniel is expecting all that coherent an answer from Satan, nor does he sit down. He grips the bookshelf's edge very tightly and tamps down his own escalating sense of dread.

"Will receiving an answer make you feel as though you have some control in this situation?" he asks, because he doesn't care if he's being a shit or not.

"Does the why even really matter all that much? I am interested in you, righteous man. It's a fact that you should learn to live with, because I am nothing if not very, very patient."

He smiles, and though it's a fairly gentle smile, it's probably not all that comforting to Daniel.

"And I'm immortal, Daniel, so I can promise you that I don't get bored easily."

Oh, like Daniel needs reminding. He's spent far too much of his time trying to regain control in situations where that's clearly not an option - being the unwilling subject of the Devil's interest now, regretfully, included.

He can't fully fend back the chilling prickle that runs down the back of his neck at the moniker, deposited so casually and evenly and almost playfully. Righteous man. Righteous, and angry, and defiant, and ultimately helpless in the face of something that's bigger than him. Not that that's ever stopped Daniel, but in this context especially, he knows this isn't a winnable struggle - particularly since he can't even figure out what it is about him the Devil finds so uniquely interesting.

Daniel makes a bitterly amused, mildly hysterical noise, short and abrupt, and shrugs.

"Yeah, well, I can't seem to be able to die, so I can promise you that I'm pretty patient."

Is that even a threat? Was it meant to be a threat? It doesn't sound like a threat. Daniel has no idea what that was even remotely meant to accomplish or mean even, but he keeps backing away.

"Even better," he says, because if Daniel doesn't stay dead, than it would just save Lucifer the trouble of bringing him back himself.

"Did you rise on the third day, in fulfillment of the Scriptures? Should I call you Yeshua? I think you look like an agnus dei. You could maybe be a bit more lamb-like, but you've got the sacrificial part down pat."

And he freed the slaves of Abydos, too, and fought against forces named after pagan deities. Put on that crown of thorns and have yourself a Crusade, Daniel, you fit the Christ mold like a glove.

"Third day?" Wait no, he's not in the mood to debate anagogical importance with Satan, least of all in application to himself. "No, no, try descending after a year. There was no rising, and there was no, ah, well, you know, it was awful hard to keep track, there on the higher, um, higher plane."

Don't think Daniel has missed the oh so obvious hilarity of his name and all the biblical jokes that can be plumbed from it, but he's getting the more and more distinct impression that he's flailing hopelessly in a cosmic-scale game of cat and mouse with the odds stacked so high against him that it's, quite frankly, absurd.

"Anywho," says Daniel, with an almost manic edge to the forcibly light tone, "if you're, um, quite done making shaky theological comparisons, I'm gonna, I dunno, wake myself up or something." Not that it would help, because the Devil can just go and find him the minute he leaves his building anyway. Add that to the fact that Daniel still can't figure out how to wake himself up, and he's left more or less floundering.

How typical.

Lucifer will just patiently wait for a few beats.

"Do you need some help?"

Lucifer is just going to placidly look at Daniel while he's still resolutely stuck in the dream, not at all gently mocking him about his inability to get away from the Devil when he wants to. Nope, nothing at all like that going on here.

Help? What, like does Daniel want him to brutally murder him until he wakes up or something?

Daniel stares at Lucifer in an expression of horror that quickly resolves into one that realizes it should have known better than to expect anything else at this point.

"Ah," says Daniel. "No. No, I think I'm fine. Th - no thanks."

And with that, he is just going to - go over there. No need to follow him or anything. Just, just dodging into the next room, then the next, looking over his shoulder all the way in a vague panic.

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Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

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