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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The woman who seizes him is unexpected, but ultimately beyond his interest.

"Why does everyone call me that?" he asks in vague, quiet annoyance, directing the question at no one in particular. It takes but a twitch of his fingers to dissolve into smoke again and slip between his assailant's grasp. He rematerializes a few feet away, equidistant to the both of them.

"Such hostility." Rumpelstiltskin evaluates his quarries with a cool, almost puzzled frown. "I simply wanted to know more about this Rift of hers. It is quite the entertaining prospect, is it not?"

"Wha-" Iman blinks as he dissipates right out of her hand and recollects nearby. Magic indeed. Well, isn't that fancy. Surprise is quick to turn into a scowl as she tilts to face him.

"You leave her alone," she says. Ordinarily someone wanting to know about the Rift is an open invitation for friendly conversation, but not with this guy, not the way he's behaving or the way Greta and Angus are so obviously uneasy, or the way he calls it Rift of hers. Cloying little fuck. It's just an extra insult that he's wearing the face of her friend. Probably not even doing it on purpose, some weird result of quantum iteration, but it makes her blood boil all the same.

Aqil settles back on her shoulder, glaring as much as a crow can glare. "Who is it wants to know about 'this Rift'?" he practically sneers.

Greta smooths her palms over her skirt, trying not to look as apprehensive as she feels. Has Iman ever tangled with magic before? Probably not, aside from the curses, and she'd said hers wasn't so bad. Rumplestiltskin doesn't seem inclined towards physical violence, at least... but then, he wouldn't have to be, would he? She eyes his cane the way one might eye a loaded gun.

"His name is Rumplestiltskin," Angus says, lip curled in a one-sided snarl. "And she never introduced herself." He nods stiffly in the lizard's direction.

He makes a subdued show of straightening his tie; a name such has his carries a sort of gravitas that cannot simply be glossed over. He surveys the array of humans and beasts with muted irritation. The wariness Greta now directs at him is much more what a monster of his reputation and title deserves.

"Grizelda does not speak unless she has something to say," Rumpelstiltskin murmurs, gaze drifting briefly to the scaly thing at his side. She opens her jaws and snaps them shut again in wordless warning, but says nothing.

His attention sharpens back to the newcomer, and his curiosity again flares.

"Do you know who I am, then?" Surely someone here must.

"Rumple...stiltskin," she says slowly, anger turning to bewilderment. "Really?" This guy? N... no. Not. She refuses to believe that another universe's Rush is Rumplefuckingstiltskin.

"Wait, is - is he from your world, then?" she blurts, looking back at Greta.

Wait, Iman's heard of him? Greta looks over at her friend in surprise, a glance that turns into a double-take when Iman puts her question.

"What?" Ugh, the very idea. Not that she knows every resident of her universe by sight, but he's dressed all wrong for it. "No. I've never heard of him." And since he seems to take his notoriety for granted, she'd like to think if he was from home, she would have.

But Iman has. Greta frowns over at her in confusion. Why would her friend think he was from the same universe as she is? "You know him, then?"

"Please." He taps his cane once to underscore the quiet syllable, though the twitch to the corner of his mouth may imply he is rather amused at the more adequately startled reaction. The newcomer certainly knows his name, though she seems more disappointingly inclined to be alarmed as opposed to afraid, as she should be.

"There's really no need for all this...unnecessary aggression." Straightforward brawling neither interests nor entertains him, and it is so very tired and pointless a countermeasure against the likes of him. "As I understand it, when one party has something the other desires, an arrangement can always be made."

Iman opens her mouth to reply to Greta but before she can Rumplestiltskin's little comment has her spinning back to face him.

"Nooo," she says sternly, all but waggling a fucking finger at him. "No, no. No fucking deals. I know your jam."

Well, sort of. Fairy tales aren't her forte at all, she only vaguely recalls what this character is about and he's supposed to be some kind of baby-eating imp, right? In any case this is not someone she's prepared to haggle with.

She takes a small step back, her right hand reaching blindly for Greta's, while the other is raised in abstract defense. "Why don't you just piss off."

The idea of coming to an arrangement with him makes Greta grimace as if she's tasted something unpleasant. She knows what he's after, but she can't imagine what he'd attempt to offer in return - aside from 'leaving,' and now that Iman's here, Greta rather hopes they can just skip right to that part.

She reaches out to take Iman's hand all but automatically, feeling bolstered by her friend's presence on one side and Angus's on the other. "No deals," she seconds. "You've nothing to offer us."

A profoundly unsatisfying termination of what could have been such a fascinating prospect. He'd so thought the two of them showed promise. But let it not be said that Rumpelstiltskin is not a being of his word; he does not make deals with the unwilling. He dips his head so slightly, courteous as always, the smile ghosting thinly over his disappointment.

"As you insist." And he pauses, long enough to meet both pairs of distrustful eyes in calm succession. "Though should you ever change your mind - " He raises a hand and twists the magic around himself deftly, the smoke leaching from the ground to flow smoothly over him. "Well, you know my name."

And when the whisper of violet smoke fades, both man and lizard are gone.

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

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