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

[andhiswife]

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.

[singthesong]

"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.