The Big Applesauce Moderators (
applesaucemod) wrote in
applesaucedream2015-03-31 06:55 pm
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Entry tags:
- character: asmodia antarion,
- character: daine sarrasri,
- character: eliot waugh,
- character: greta baker,
- character: iman asadi,
- character: johnny truant,
- character: peeta mellark,
- character: rashad durant,
- character: sunshine,
- character: the balladeer,
- dropped: daniel jackson,
- dropped: jay merrick,
- dropped: mako mori,
- dropped: seth,
- dropped: tara maclay,
- dropped: tim wright,
- party post,
- retired: bee,
- retired: melanie,
- retired: peter vincent,
- retired: yuri kostoglodov
Between the Roots and Branches [Open to All]

Don't worry, dreamers of Manhattan. There will be no humiliating episodes of sudden-onset-clumsiness tonight - at least, nothing more severe than what you might experience naturally. Your physical and mental faculties will be left perfectly intact. What a treat! And what luck, because if you do lose your footing, it's a long way down to the forest floor.
But hey, who wants to be on the boring old ground when there are so many wonderful treehouses to explore? There are dozens of them spread throughout the surrounding forest, connected by a series of bridges and catwalks (some, admittedly, a bit more stable than others). It's easy to forget - or fail to notice - that there really is no easy or conventional way down to the ground when you're surrounded by such splendor.
The houses' styles range from charming and rustic to modern and sleek, with many falling somewhere in between. There are viewing platforms for bird-watching or simply taking in the scenery (trees, mostly, though if you venture high enough, you'll be treated the sight of the forest canopy stretched across a valley far below). But the insides of the treehouses are comfortably furnished to varying degrees as well, so there's no need to immerse yourself in nature if you'd really rather not. Some are complete houses in their own right, with all the amenities of a Manhattan apartment and then some.
Go for a climb, or kick back and relax. The only enemies you'll find here are other dreamers... and, potentially, gravity.
no subject
"Hi." He can read the man's nerves in his body language and keeps his voice gentle. For all Peeta knows, this could be his first experience with shared dreams. "You just arrive? Want to sit?" he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.
no subject
He eyes the empty chair dubiously, eyes flickering darkly to either side, to the boy and back. He can't think of anything less relaxing than sitting still at this place, but it's not like dendrophobia is especially common. The deceptively pleasant atmosphere almost makes it even worse; it's the sensation that there's something incredibly off-kilter and wrong suspended in the space between tree trunks.
Or maybe he's just paranoid.
Which is the more likely option.
He turns his thoughts back to contemplating the chair with a disproportionate level of suspicion.
no subject
"Have you been in any of the shared dreams before?" Peeta asks. "The ones were the rift pulls a bunch of people in to a place? This is one of the nice ones." At least so far. The rift has never changed a nice dream into a bad one, but that doesn't mean it couldn't. No need to tell his anxious companion that, though. "The rift gives us one every once in a while. A dream where nothing bad happens."
He adds the last part casually, like a comment on the weather. It's a true description, but given the stranger's obvious suspicion, any overt claims about their safety might backfire.
no subject
"Pretty sure they can't get any worse than my normal ones." Not that he wants to issue a challenge. So far his shared dreams have been fairly harmless, or at least as far as everyone else is concerned; as far as Tim is concerned, any dreams where he's launched into the middle of them are just going to open doors to waking world dangers, something he's been desperately trying - and failing - to avoid.
One hand opens and closes once, a nervous muscular spasm, and he stops teetering on the precipice of whatever he's been teetering on, dropping into the chair beside the guy with a mild air of exhausted defeat.
no subject
Peeta's peaceful countenance has returned by the time the man flops down beside him. Strangely, it seems less like he wanted to sit and more like he was giving in to the inevitable. His own past echoing far away in the back of his mind, Peeta feels a strong tug of sympathy for this stranger, so clearly haunted by something of his own.
"I'm Peeta," he says, tipping his glass in greeting. "Would you like something to drink? The bar inside is pretty well stocked."
no subject
"I dunno. Can't drink in the real world," he says, earnest confusion rippling over his clouded expression before it closes on skepticism. "D'you think that matters?"
no subject
no subject
"Medication doesn't always go real great with alcohol."
no subject
"Ah, well, it's up to you if you want to risk it. Sometimes things act normally in dreams and sometimes they don't." He frowns faintly, looking down into his wine. "I'm not feeling much from this, but that doesn't mean anything." He pauses, then looks back up at Tim, the faint smile on his face again. "And I saw some sodas, too."
He sinks more deeply into his chair, takes another sip, and sighs. "You ever seen houses in trees before? It's a new one for me."
no subject
He's just gonna thank whatever forces are at work here that he hasn't started coughing yet, because that would be the last thing he needs. He gives the surrounding houses a cursory sweep with a chronically nervous gaze but his eyes are drawn to the dark spaces between them, the gaps in the homogenous layout of trunks.
There's nothing there. He mentally kicks himself. Stop looking for trouble where there isn't.
"Uh. No. Well. Yes." That's not an answer. He scowls briefly, one corner of his mouth contorting indecisively. "I mean, I've heard of them. Treehouses, kind of a thing. Never been in one." And, if he gets his way, he never will again.
no subject
"Do you not like trees?" he asks, somewhat bluntly. He's heard of stranger things. He keeps his eyes on their surroundings, but keeps watching Tim from the corner of his eye. "To be fair, I probably wouldn't be as comfortable down on the ground. Too many memories of forests and jungles."
no subject
"Yeah," he says. "Trees in general. Spent a little too much time around them to be, y'know."
There's no straightforward decoupling of the back-clad visual from the prickling, crawling sensation of being watched by something that doesn't have eyes, that cannot and should not and does not exist except in burning periphery.
"It's probably nothing." The sentiment sounds forced. It is forced. He can't press his mind into believing it. He tamps down the childish urge to simply close his eyes, succumb to the if you can't see it it's not really there mentality. Because there is nothing there and he shouldn't need to pretend. This isn't his head, it's some collective group consciousness. This isn't something brushing the edges of his nightmares. It's treehouses. It's nice. He should be fucking grateful.