applesaucedream | This is My Island in the Sun [Open to All]

Current Music: Evening of September 6th/Morning of September 7th, 2013

This is My Island in the Sun [Open to All]

The Rift wouldn't say it's sorry for the fit it threw the other day, because the Rift never needs to apologize. It is (mostly) perfect, and all of its decisions are well reasoned and just. Obviously. But perhaps it has fallen into a bit of a post-tantrum sulk, because this dream is milder than one might expect. In fact, it's downright nice.

The dreamers will find themselves in an archipelago of small islands - most only a few acres in size - connected by narrow strips of sand or pebbles. The surrounding waters are calm. Little waves lap against the shorelines, and no rising tide will cut the islands off from one another. The islands themselves seem to have been lifted from every climate zone on Earth and several from beyond. Some are tropical, some colder and home to hardy conifers, some mossy and boulder-strewn, some covered in multicolored sand and odd, coral-like trees.

Most of the islands boast some kind of manmade or otherwise non-native structure, be it as small as a bench or as large as a pavilion, though there are no houses or shops to be seen. It's more like parkland, just civilized enough for a nice picnic. Some of the islands even have little grills, and a sufficiently motivated dreamer might be able to rustle up some hot dog or burger fixings if they poke around a bit.

And they'll have an extra pair of eyes to help with their searching, because their beloved dæmons have returned… again. Or perhaps they're being introduced for the first time. Regardless, it's the bi-annual dæmon dream party!

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"Oh," Iman utters in faint surprise when a big dog comes bounding out, calling her name - and then she goes very silent when Greta steps out behind it. She's in minor disarray from wandering through the woods after a huge adorable shaggy dog - which, holy shit, by the way - and she looks gorgeous and happy. Aqil ducks his head down, poking his beak lightly behind her ear, moving stray hairs back under the hijab - is he nervous? Fuck, she's relying on him to have his shit together, here.

"Hi," she says with a big ~~doofy~~ grin. "That's a real nice dog you got there."

Greta's animal-self is a huge adorable shaggy dog not over it never over it.

"Hi Greta!" blurts Aqil, and Iman tilts her head to look at him in vague disbelief. Are you serious right now.

He hops off her shoulder and flaps over to Greta, circling once like an exuberant idiot dear god this is so embarrassing before landing neatly on her shoulder. Iman feels an immediate twinge beneath her sternum, not painful but not exactly normal, faint but odd enough that her smile fades slightly.

Angus grins broadly at the compliment in contrast to Greta's dubious snort. "He'd be nicer if he didn't go haring off through the underbrush," she says, freeing a twig from his fur and giving his nose a pointed boop with it. She can't maintain even a jokingly severe exterior for very long, though, and she grins up at Iman - and her bird - as she works. "But that's a lovely crow. Hello to you, too," she adds when he greets her directly. It's hard not to be charmed by everyone's talking animal-things, but she's particularly taken by the way Iman's crow flaps around her in a cheerful circle and then alights on her shoulder.

That last startles her a little - she'd had a vague idea that touching someone else's animal might be rude - but if the crow chose to land on her, perhaps it's all right? Angus doesn't hesitate in stretching his head forward to touch his nose to the crow's beak, and that seems perfectly natural. So, with a mental shrug and a pleased smile, Greta lifts a hand and gently runs the back of her fingers down the crow's feathery chest. "Aren't you sweet," she says, less a question and more a good-natured accusation.

As if in belated punctuation, there's a loud thud from over where Iman was standing.

Edited 2015-05-03 03:09 (UTC)

The thud is Iman sitting down very, very fast.

Yeah, Aqil landing on her had felt weird. But that was nothing compared to this. The moment Greta's finger touches him she feels a sort of electric current run over her, an internal sensation as much as external - she's feeling what Aqil is feeling, she realizes, and it's not just shared sensation, it's ike he's a part of her that has never been touched, not by anyone. And now that precedent has been set, gently but unceremoniously, by Greta of all people.

It is a lot to take in.

Aqil feels it too - her discomfort, that is, whether or not he feels exactly as uncomfortable on his own is beyond Iman at the moment. He flaps in alarm and immediately hops back off Greta's shoulder, landing instead on a rock between the downed Iman and Angus.

"Oh!" Oh, dear. Something's happened; Iman is on the ground as if someone literally yanked a rug out from under her, and the crow all but flees over to a nearby rock. Angus lets out a startled whine as Greta curls her hand into a fist and draws it in against her sternum self-consciously. Something's happened, but what?

She glances between Iman and the bird, frozen in shock and general indecision. Perhaps Angus's reservations are fewer, or perhaps his concern is greater, but he's not the least bit frozen. He trots over to the rock the crow has landed on and noses at him for a moment, as if to reassure himself the bird is still in one piece. Then he approaches Iman, his brown eyes concerned beneath his shaggy fringe. "Are you all right?" he asks, lifting a forepaw and setting it on Iman's shoulder as he sniffs worriedly at her face.

The contact seems to echo somewhere in Greta's chest, and it's enough to get her moving, crawling awkwardly over to where Iman's wound up. "What happened?" she asks, setting her hand on the woman's other shoulder.

Edited 2015-05-03 04:04 (UTC)

"Uh, um," Iman babbles, startled by the proximity of both dog and Greta. She's bewildered and shaken by that weird experience, which she does not know how to put into words, and consequently she's not thinking straight when she reaches out by force of habit and rests her hand on the dog's big paw.

... Oh. For an instant, Greta thought it was her own hand Iman had covered, but it's not, it's Angus's paw. Yet she can feel it, as if he's a physical extension of her own self. But that's not all she feels; it goes far deeper than that, as if Iman had reached inside her, touched some part of her she didn't even know existed, and it is so--so unbearably much that she reels back a little to sit down with a respectable thud of her own.

Angus pulls his paw out from beneath Iman's hand, his concern for Greta trumping all others. He's by her side a moment later, his muzzle tucked under her chin, and she slings her arms around him while she regains her breath.

"I, er... I see," she says after she's regained a little equilibrium. Then, cheeks flushing in profound embarrassment, "I'm sorry."

As the dog pulls away, Iman lifts her hand as though she's been stung, belatedly realizing what she's just done, idiot; she claps her hands over her mouth in embarrassment, watching Greta reel back and blush. This would be cute if it weren't mortifying.

"I had no idea it would-" she starts to say, and hides her face briefly. "I'm sorry, right after it happened to me, then I did it, I - I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

Her dithering is a little ridiculous, maybe, it's not like they're hurt. But it's a very fuckin weird moment, she's not sure what to make of it, and she has no idea how Greta feels about it. Beyond immensely startled.

Aqil flaps over to land on her wrist and she cups her free hand around him, stroking him for some kind of weird support.

Well, this is just appalling all around. "I didn't, either," she says, practically on top of Iman's explanations. "I'd never," she flaps feebly in the crow's direction, blush deepening, "before, and I didn't know it, um." Didn't know it would feel like that, oh dear, she'd stroked him, how completely mortifying.

Angus gives her a gentle nudge, and Greta swallows heavily. The more of a fuss they make, the worse they're just making one another feel about it all, and so she makes an effort to rein herself in. She lets go of Angus, mostly, just keeping a hand on his shoulder as she sits up a bit straighter. "I'm all right," she says, her voice steadier than it was before. "Just, um... surprised." Curling her fingers into Angus's fur, she asks, "And you're all right, too?"

"I am if you are," Angus replies, pressing his nose against her temple.

"Yeah, it sure was surprising," says Iman with a feeble smile. "But hey, now we've learned something." She picks herself back up, reaching out to lean gently on Greta. "Anyway we can touch each other just like normal, so I wonder if THEY can - oh."

Aqil is way ahead her, having already fluttered over to alight on Angus' head, folding his wings back and fluffing up like an absurd little hat.

She smirks at the sight and looks at Greta. "Guess that answers that."

Greta huffs out a faintly incredulous laugh when Iman pronounces it lesson learned. Not that it's so very surprising, really. It's either that or just feel embarrassed forever, and she doesn't fancy the latter option. She reaches up to pat the hand Iman's resting on her shoulder, apology and forgiveness rolled into one gesture, then gets to her feet as Iman's crow lands on Angus's head.

"We're fine," he confirms, holding himself carefully so the crow won't get unbalanced. "I'm Angus, by the way," he adds, looking up at the crow.

"Nice to meet you," says Aqil. "I'm Aqil." He lowers his head and strokes Angus' fur gently with his beak.

Dear lord. Iman manages not to roll her eyes. "Have you ever seen the ocean before?" she asks Greta curiously, eager to move away from that weird mishap as fast as possible. She reaches out to take Greta's arm gingerly. No sense letting Aqil have all the fun here.

Angus's hindquarters quiver a little in response to the attention - not quite a full wag, because he doesn't want to unseat his passenger, but the sentiment is there.

Greta watches the two of them with a faint smile, glad that whatever she and Iman experienced doesn't seem to have rattled either of their animal-things. When Iman takes her arm, it feels like a final puzzle piece slotting into place. Now things are back to normal. She covers Iman's hand with her own and offers her a warm smile.

"I haven't!" Well, that's not entirely true - she's seen a little since she got here - but it's not as if she's paid it much attention. There were other things going on. But being shown the ocean by Iman sounds more enjoyable than just looking at it by herself, anyway. "We didn't live anywhere near the sea, back home."

"Yeah, I've never been anywhere like this," says Iman, looking out over the blue. "You wanna go wading or something? Water's pretty warm. Or we can walk thataway." She points up the path to the next island. She feels an itch to keep moving, constant motion - there's so much space here, and while she feels at home in the crowded, compact world of Manhattan, it would be a terrible shame to waste it here. Especially when she's in such good company.

"A walk would be nice," Greta says, because it would - and because she doesn't like to think about what saltwater and sand would do to Angus. The odds of him staying on the beach and behaving himself seem slim, and he has so much fur he'd probably never dry out. As if reading her mind, he grins up at her innocuously from beneath his Aqil hat. "Besides," she says, looking at him sidelong, "if Angus got wet, he'd be a mess."

"Maybe I'll jump in anyway," he says, ambling toward the path. He probably won't make any sudden moves with Aqil as a passenger, though.

"You've a bit of a mischievous streak, I see," says Iman lightly, not sure if she's saying it to Angus or Greta - is there a difference, when one gets down to it? Angus essentially is the mischievous streak, if she's reading this right. She leans into Greta, grinning, and ignores Aqil's knowing little cluck from down below. "A walk, then. We'll see what we see."

It'll be nice. And then they'll wake up and everything will be normal. That's the nice thing about these dreams.

Greta raises her eyebrows and turns down the corners of her mouth in a deliberate and not very successful attempt to hide a smile. "Me? Oh, no." She shakes her head, slow and grave. "I am a good and proper woman; I do what I'm told. As does Angus, I'm sure."

Angus lets out a faint whuff of amusement. "No running off into the Woods or lying to royalty for us."

It's a little odd to hear him speak so casually of things he hasn't witnessed, but Greta's enjoying herself and disinclined to question it. "No, indeed," she agrees with matronly severity. Glancing at Iman, she adds, "So I won't have you dragging my good name through the mud."

Edited 2015-05-06 04:15 (UTC)

"Lying to royalty, you say," says Iman lightly, unable to keep from grinning - it's great to see Greta like this, seems like it's been a long time. "A woman after my heart."

Was that too much? Maybe it was too much. But Greta doesn't ever seem to notice these things so it's probably okay. She can feel Aqil staring at her and she resists the urge to wave him off.

"So what are the chances of me hearing more details about that?" she barrels on, maintaining her grin, though slightly more strained.

Edited 2015-05-07 06:20 (UTC)

Greta stops trying to hide her smile, though it's far more embarrassed than proud. It doesn't make for a very thrilling tale when all is said and done. "It only happened twice," she says with a sheepish flap of her hand.

"Thrice if you count Rapunzel," Angus chimes in, unhelpfully.

Greta gives him a look. "She wasn't royalty at the time."

"So we were just impersonating royalty, then," he says with a broad grin, entirely shameless.

"Wh-!" Greta starts. The question of how Angus even knows all of this is in the back of her mind, but at the forefront are her surprise and exasperation over all his cheerful undercutting. The back-and-forth feels a little too familiar - she could almost be arguing with her husband - but Angus is less... inhibited.

Is this what her husband felt like when he argued with her? Perish the thought.

She sighs. "I only lied to the Prince because he was looking for Cinderella and she didn't want him to find her," she explains to Iman, ignoring her ridiculous dog-thing for the moment. "I was doing the woman a favor." A rather inexplicable favor, or so she'd thought at the time. "And with Rapunzel, I just... needed some of her hair, so I put on a deep voice for a moment, so she'd let it down." Giving Angus a pointed look, she adds, "It was hardly an impersonation." She's still surprised it worked at all.

Iman can scarcely contain her glee over all of this - first at Rapunzel and Cinderella, holy fuck, she knew Greta was from fairy tales, but did she know it was that literal? If she did she'd forgotten, sort of wiped away under how normal and down-to-earth Greta's always seemed, but now there it is - and then with the mental image of Greta putting on a deep voice to get Rapunzel to let down her proverbial, or apparently literal! hair... it's too much. Iman doubles over with giggling.

Aqil watches her dubiously from his perch on Angus' head - if crow's could blush - and looks at Greta. "She thinks you're the coolest."

"You shut up!" she yelps through her laughter, wiping tears away. "She IS the coolest. Lying to princes is metal as fuck."

"I didn't say anything to the contrary," says Aqil airily.

Greta shrugs bashfully in the face of Iman's amusement, though she can't help her smile widening a fair amount. It's rather flattering, such appreciation for a silly story bluntly told. Her smile turns into a sputter of surprise when Aqil speaks, though. This might be too much appreciation.

"I'm what?" she squawks with an undercurrent of laughter, pressing her hands over her burning cheeks. "'Metal'?" What utter nonsense.

And if this is the reaction she gets just for having lied to a Prince, how would Iman react to the rest of it? She turns to give Angus a preemptively quelling look in case he feels like sharing that bit of information, but he's looking distinctly embarrassed. "It all happened quickly," he allows with belated humility.

"Are we going to introduce her to metal bands now," says Aqil with an incredible show of calm in the face of this adorable catastrophe.

"It's just-" Iman flaps a hand, finally reining herself in and straightening up. "Wooo. It's just a saying. Means you're legit."

"Well that's just defining words using more words that you need to define," says Aqil.

"Shut up, bird," she says, unable to even sound irritated. Aqil huffs, but Iman just beams at Greta. "You are cool. You did things most people probably wouldn't do. That's badass. S'why I like you. One of the reasons."

Aqil cocks his head sharply at her. Slow your roll, dipshit.

She swallows and gives Greta a soft, slow-motion punch in the shoulder. "Buddy."

"You're an embarrassment," says Aqil flatly.

"Metal bands?" Angus repeats, taking the phrase as literally as it can be taken - much like Greta, who's trying to figure out what else it could mean, presuming it has nothing to do with the things that hold barrels together or what have you. 'Legit' is similarly unhelpful, to no one's apparent surprise.

But 'cool,' and what follows, are a bit more enlightening, and Greta shakes her head, her hands still pressed over her cheeks. Yes, she's done things most people probably wouldn't do, but she hadn't expected anyone else to see that as a good thing - not necessarily, anyway. She knows some of the choices she'd made without shame or hesitation would make other people squirm; her husband certainly wasn't impressed with her until she'd managed to obtain Rapunzel's hair. Even just speaking generally, most people back home don't smile upon those who wander off the metaphorical path.

How odd to be appreciated for that very thing. Not bad, but definitely odd.

Almost as odd as the bizarre little punch Iman throws her way, and Greta swats back at her with a proper laugh. 'Embarrassment,' indeed. "Well," she starts before realizing she has no idea how to finish it.

Angus leans over to look at Iman, either recovered from his own bashful spell or bolstered by the fact that everyone aside from the crow has abandoned any pretense of dignity. "What are the other reasons?" he asks, a deliberate layer of obnoxiousness not quite masking genuine curiosity.

"Oh, stop," Greta scolds him.

"You wouldn't like it," says Aqil in response to Angus' confusion. When Angus speaks again he fluffs up and practically buries his head under a wing.

Well this is dreadful. Iman can't stop grinning even as the gears in her head grind to a halt, well now what, genius.

"What's not to love?" she says finally with a little laugh. She passes a hand through her hair and halfway dislodges her hijab, which comes off the rest of the way in the breeze. She lets it billow around her like a ridiculous hood. She turns on her heel and carries on walking, hoping Greta didn't catch her blushing. She'd rather like to just walk right into the sea.

Greta's frowning at Angus, which makes it impossible not to notice poor Aqil's mortified reaction to the question. Well, it was a terribly vain question; of course he's embarrassed. She tsks disapprovingly, and Angus has the good grace to duck his head.

Iman, of course, manages to come up with an answer that is as flattering and ridiculous as everything else she's said, and Greta dismisses it with a flap of her hand and an incredulous snort. Honestly.

And there goes her hijab. Greta's seen her without it quite a few times, now, but it's still a jolt. Granted, Iman gave the impression that she didn't take it too seriously... but she always seemed to wear it as a rule until that evening at Wilmot's. Now, Greta watches the scarf billow out behind her friend - who makes no attempt to fix it - and wonders if she ought to be pleased or vaguely embarrassed that Iman doesn't seem to mind if she sees her without it.

Well, she's not going to tell the woman to put it back on if she doesn't want to. "Mind you don't lose it," she says instead, hustling a little to make up for lost ground with Angus shuffling through the sand alongside her. Then, once she's caught up, "Your hair's going to end up all over the place." Not the most graceful subject shift, perhaps, but it was necessary, she thinks. And, to be fair, the wind is having its merry way with Iman's hair already.

Iman shrugs, bemused and sort of touched at the show of concern. "It's just a dream," she says, pulling the fabric down entirely and mussing her hair up further. "Anyway, it's always all over the place, just battened down so now one can tell. That's my big secret." She grins, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow, relieved that things are somewhat back on track now. This is a flirtation level she can handle.

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