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

[etherthief]

"Whu-!" Aqil lets out a startled, half-indignant squawk as Angus dumps him, unsteadily flapping himself over in midair and narrowly dodging the paw. "I'm not-" He doesn't bother finishing the protestation, too engaged landing delicately on Angus' nose.

This is embarrassing to watch. And weird to laterally experience. But Iman is sort of stuck not moving, and Greta's humming is soothing, so she just keeps quiet and sits and listens.

[andhiswife]

Angus lets Aqil get within an inch of his nose before darting his tongue out obnoxiously, landing a glancing blow on the crow's feet. Greta huffs once, caught between amusement and disapproval, and says, "Behave yourself."

"Oh, hush," Angus replies, wriggling into a more comfortable position. "We're fine."

Greta rolls her eyes, but soon lapses back into humming as she focuses on Iman's hair. It really isn't the least bit complicated, just four loose little braids running back from her forehead and temple and meeting in the back, twisted together to make up for a lack of any kind of ties (which she noticed very belatedly, ah well). But it seems secure enough to withstand the breeze. Greta lets out a satisfied little hum as she gives her friend's hair a settling fluff, then pats her shoulder. "All done. That should keep it out of your face, at least."

[etherthief]

Aqil indeed seems to be enjoying his dumb little self, buzzing around Angus' head before landing back in his fur and - grooming it, apparently? What, to return the favor? God make it stop.

She grins when Greta announces she's finished, reaching up to feel the work delicately. "Feels nice," she says. "Thanks." She tilts her head up to direct the grin at Greta. "Maybe you can do this in the real world sometime."

Terrible. No. Terrible and irresponsible. But what's the harm really. It'd be nice. It'd be nice!!

"You made her look dignified," says Aqil with vague alarm. Iman rolls her eyes at him. Thanks so much.

[andhiswife]

This is the second time Angus has enjoyed a little light preening; as far as he can tell, it's the Done Thing - or close enough as makes no difference. Besides, it's nice and relaxing. He leaves off batting at Aqil in favor of just letting the crow play with his fur, trusting he won't mess it up more than it is already.

"But there are mirrors out in the real world," Greta mock-protests, tucking some wayward strands of her own hair back behind her ear. She grins wryly at Aqil's comment, 'dignified' not being a word she would have chosen for the style. It's hardly something a grand lady back home would choose, with their tendencies towards complexity (and an overabundance of curls). But then again, if all Iman typically does with her hair is cover it up, she supposes this could qualify as fancy.

Angus doesn't even lift his head off the sand. "Of course she'll do it," he says drolly. "There are combs and ties in the real world, too. And ribbons."

"Oh, shush." Ribbons, honestly. To Iman, she adds, "I'd be happy to, though. Nothing complicated, but..." she shrugs cheerfully.

[etherthief]

"No ribbons," says Iman with a grin and a warning point at Angus. "But yeah, um. Maybe once in a while." That might be really nice.

She looks back and smiles at her, pats the sand beside her. "Come sit," she says.

[andhiswife]

Greta scoots forward somewhat awkwardly - it's not easy to crawl in a dress, but it's not worth getting to her feet for such a short journey - then settles herself beside Iman and looks out over the water, absently brushing sand off her skirts. It's a pity all their dreams can't be this nice (though, to be fair, she's yet to have a particularly bad one unless you count the first, which she doesn't remember so clearly).

"No ribbons," she agrees, leaning back against her hands and pointedly ignoring Angus's heavy, put-upon sigh.