applesaucedream | 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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"Ah." She's been in Manhattan long enough to at least have a passing familiarity with musicals as a concept (though she had no idea they could be movies, too; honestly, it almost strikes her as overkill).

"And I have seen some movies," she adds with a wry smile. It was inevitable; there's only so much you can do with your time when you're lying low in someone else's apartment. She's been able to bake, at least - Iman doesn't use her kitchen overmuch, so it hadn't been an imposition - but she's had to resist the temptation to obsessively tidy the place or otherwise treat it too much like her own home. "Not musical ones, though."

"But those are the best kind!" the Balladeer protests playfully. Ah yes, this is better. "I don't know how popular they are nowadays. The kids I'm staying with keep having movie nights with their computers, it's all action stuff..."

He waves a hand dismissively and leans back against the boulder. Maybe it's odd for an adult man to be lurking around a youth hostel, showing up for the regular movie nights in the lounge, but the students themselves haven't said anything yet. The Balladeer has been taking that as permission to keep right on doing it. "I'm sure there's plenty of good modern movies, though. I just need to find them." He'll have to figure out this Netflix thing. Does he need a computer for that?

"So what've you been up to?" She's staying with Iman, at least. It's good to have company.

Greta shrugs as Angus lowers himself to the ground - taking care not to unseat Beth - and sprawls out lazily. "Looking for someplace new to stay. Iman said the old ROMAC apartment building ought to be safe, since it's under new management." She does like the location; it's very near the Park and a lot of museums, as well as a Rifty-frequented bakery she's heard about, but comfortably distant from the old Base.

"And I've, er, been watching the news," she adds with a faint wince. "Have you seen the reports?" The Rift's tantrum had been so extensive that even if ROMAC had been at their full strength, she doubts they could have covered it up. While Iman had gone to fetch her things, Greta had been glued to the television, watching all the reports of heavy snow in Times Square and patches of jungle appearing in the Ramble and other assorted impossibilities. She's not sure how everyone avoided making the Rift public knowledge up until this point, but the cat's definitely out of the bag, now.

The Balladeer gives a rueful little chuckle. "Yeah. I don't know how this is the first they've heard of it. With everyone carrying those camera phones, too!"

It almost makes him wish he'd ended up in charge of stories about other things in American history. Can you imagine the song this would make? Granted it's all probably still a little terrifying for the uninitiated, but there's so many opportunities to learn about different worlds! The spirit of exploration - he could've done a great one about the moon landing too, that would've been fun.

"I still haven't been going around telling people I came here that way, but I think some of them might suspect," he admits a little sheepishly. It's his own fault; he made himself conspicuously strange. He probably could've coasted under the radar if he'd stuck to 'Bradley'. "Mostly the other regulars from the park. I haven't played out there much lately - ROMAC knew I did that - but I wanted to check in on them with everything that's been happening." They were his friends, and frankly he worried that some of them might have gotten stuck out in that jungle.

Greta nods, humming thoughtfully. She's been keeping her head down since ROMAC's fall, and hasn't really had the opportunity to make some obvious show of being out of place. But now that things are settling down, it's probably only a matter of time before someone pegs her as being a Rifty. With any luck, she'll be categorized as one of the boring ones - it's not as if she has any nigh-magical abilities (her Rift Power can masquerade as dumb luck on the rare occasions when it manifests, the illusion given more weight by the fact that it's inevitably as much a surprise to her as any outside observers).

But boring or not, they're still not from around here. And that might be cause for suspicion in and of itself. "Hopefully there won't be too much... unpleasantness," she says, frowning.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," the Balladeer assures her, as Beth ducks her head to lightly preen some of Angus's long fur. "People can get used to pretty much anything."

It will be easier, though, for the more visibly normal like the two of them. He's got no illusions about people like Asmodia being able to walk about freely tomorrow. Certainly he hopes there wouldn't be violence, but it would still be a spectacle, and who wants to deal with that every time they go out? At least none of these Rift problems are really the fault of any Rifties; that would buy them a good deal of ill-will.

Hell, it might anyway. He doubts the world turning itself inside-out is going to make certain people more rational.

"It just can't turn into an us-versus-them situation. Like it or not, we're here now - might as well try to be good neighbors." It'll help that all the Rifties probably won't be living in the same couple of buildings anymore. That's a little insular, really.

And he'd know, wouldn't he, Greta thinks wryly. Or perhaps his own ability to adjust to time loops and mysterious origins and assassins just means he's inclined to set the bar a little too high. In her own experience, visitors from heretofore unknown planes of existence tend not to get along so well with the native population. None of the Rifties that she knows of are Giants, but there are an awful lot of newcomers, all told. She couldn't really blame the locals for being ill at ease.

But there's something laterally comforting about the way Beth is gently playing with Angus's fur. Maybe Greta just wants to be reassured. "Yes," she says as she watches their animals, "I suppose you're right." By which she means that she hopes he's right. At the very least, they ought to be able to manage the good neighbors bit. That's just common courtesy.

She looks back up at the Balladeer, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. "I've missed you," she admits, reaching for his hand. "We'll have to meet in the Park or something." Uneasy as she might be about public opinion, it at least seems safe to say that they're past the point of needing to avoid one another for their collective safety.

"We should," the Balladeer agrees, taking Greta's hand with a smile. He's missed her too. It's been strange and lonely, being solely among natives this whole time; he can hardly even keep his own story straight anymore. "It's gotten much better out there. Hardly any snow left."

Even he's a little surprised by how quickly the city is bouncing back from the chaos of the past weeks, but that's New York for you. In another week, it'll look like nothing ever happened. Things can go back to normal. He still has to get a new apartment ironed out, since he really doesn't care to live in what remains of the old place, but that's so much simpler than what could have been. It's actually nice, having little domestic matters to deal with - reasons to turn away from the spectacle of public affairs and just take care of himself for a little bit.

He really hopes things don't get too ugly.

Beth pauses in her preening of Angus for a moment, glancing up long enough to say, "I'll make sure you remember when we get out of here. You're not forgetting this dream." She should hate to be forgotten about entirely.

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

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