The Big Applesauce Moderators (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
applesaucemod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
applesaucedream2015-05-02 02:31 pm
applesaucemod) wrote in applesaucedream2015-05-02 02:31 pm
Entry tags:
- character: asmodia antarion,
- character: daine sarrasri,
- character: eliot waugh,
- character: greta baker,
- character: iman asadi,
- character: james t. kirk,
- character: johnny truant,
- character: lucifer,
- character: peeta mellark,
- character: rashad durant,
- character: the balladeer,
- dropped: calliope,
- dropped: ianto jones,
- dropped: jay merrick,
- dropped: mako mori,
- dropped: nicholas rush,
- dropped: the doctor (12),
- dropped: the tardis,
- dropped: tim wright,
- dropped: zagreus,
- party post,
- retired: aziraphale,
- retired: bee,
- retired: melanie,
- retired: peter vincent,
- retired: yuri kostoglodov
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!
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!
no subject
"You didn't have to talk to him that long," Beth grumbles in his ear. Her grip is still tight, only barely loosening as the sound of Johnny (the sound of the house) dies behind them. "He isn't one of ours. We're not responsible for him, we don't need to listen."
"No. I guess not. But I think he needed it." He shifts uneasily, crossing and uncrossing his arms and vaguely wishing for the familiar weight of his guitar. That story shouldn't be told - or if it must, it's certainly not for him. Give him his common killers any day. Ordinarily he wouldn't admit to being bothered by such a short simple conversation, but it's only Beth, so he confesses: "I think I might have a rough few nights."
The parrot chirps disconsolately, pressing her little feathered head into his cheek. "Just don't think about it. That's been working okay." It had better continue working, anyway. Where he's sleeping now, people might notice.