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

[applesaucemod]

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!

Comments

[lottawork]

The relief of the shade beneath the trees' canopy dulls the edge of his nascent headache immediately. Asadi seems content to simply deposit herself on the coolness of the ground, but Rush is less willing to surrender to the lack of logic in abandoning himself to gravity's unrelenting pull while dreaming for fuck's sake. He settles against the knobbed bark of one of the trees while Arista nimbly scales its trunk to perch precariously on the branch directly above his head, raining him with entirely too much arboreal debris and dislodged twigs for it to be wholly unintentional. He glares at her. She blinks slowly back, unrepentant and smug.

Rush sighs.

He would be far less restless were he awake and productive, possibly re-evaluating Jones's data prior to sending it. His fingers twitch as he crosses his arms. He aches for the rattling, reassuring tap of a keyboard, the sliding click of a drive into its appropriate port.

He will simply have to wait until waking.

Asadi does not seem to mind it.

For the time being, neither will he.

Arista shifts fractionally on her branch, again showering him with fragments of bark as she whispers in a nearly soundless hiss of teeth, "liar."